


Come Morning Light

by onemilliongoldstars



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, baby au, ft angst but also fluff, posted again because reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:56:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemilliongoldstars/pseuds/onemilliongoldstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa loves Clarke with everything she posesses and she’s always thought it would be enough. She is wrong.<br/>"When Clarke tells her she wants a baby, time stands still."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the charming @dontlovemelikexo on tumblr, to whom I am forever indebted really.

 

She loves Clarke with her whole. Sometimes it is soft and easy, a passing glance in a crowd, the brush of fingertips over the smooth skin of her palm; but more often it is fire, consuming her, running beneath her skin and searing her from the inside out, leaving her raw and open and weak.

They love this way, entirely captured by one another.

She always thought it would be enough.

\----

When Clarke tells her she wants a baby, everything stands still.

She is stood at the shore of a fresh water lake, where some of her people come to collect drinking water, bathe and frolic in the safe, shallow waters. Lexa watches them with a slight smile, but doesn’t allow herself to follow them into the glistening pool, not even with the scorch of the midday sun battering down on her lithe body, draped in ceremonial black and red as always. She remembers the squish of silt between her toes, the cool of the water lapping at her feet and the splash and roars of laughter that followed her dives, long before she was ever chosen for this life. It is long in the past now, distant and hazy. Now she has people to protect, they are her priority.

She feels Clarke before she sees her, senses her presence from the edge of the woods and doesn’t turn at her approach, letting small, able fingers brush against hers, tangling together for a moment before pulling away. It is brief, but it is enough and when she finally allows her eyes to slip to the side she finds soft, sky blue watching her.

“Good afternoon, Heda.”

Something about the way that Clarke’s lips wrap around that word sends tingles through her, settling deep in her stomach no matter how many times she has heard it before. Even after four long years together, Clarke still uses her title from time to time, a silent acknowledgement of her duties.

“Good afternoon, _Clarke kom Skaikru._ ”

 _Clarke of the Sky People_. But really, Lexa wonders how true that title is now. Clarke, though always clinging on to some position of power within her people, has never taken on the role of Chancellor, instead leaving that position to those who would more willingly bear the weight such a name carries, a weight that Lexa understands well. Instead Clarke chose to heal, helping in both her mother’s medical bay and the ones she finds in the villages of Lexa’s people. Such an occupation keeps her close, which Lexa can’t pretend to dislike, and so she shares Lexa’s tent most nights, a steady presence to pull her down from the hype of debate, clean her wounds after a battle and hold her close in times of mourning.

“You’re not swimming.” Clarke observes, but she can hear the question wrapped through the words.

“No.” She tips her chin up just a little, eyes scanning across the water, lighting on her sentries, posted around the edges of the lake. “You know I cannot.”

“I know.” Clarke needs no explanation, but she slips a little closer to Lexa, so that their hands can press together, hidden behind the folds of their clothing.

Lexa allows it. After so much time together their union is no real secret, but even so Lexa has been trained to see enemies everywhere and love is weakness.

“They’re sweet.” Clarke speaks against, voice softer and Lexa’s eyes flicker to her, creasing inquisitively until she can follow the girl’s gaze to where three infants play at the water’s edge, one no more than a babe.

“Indeed.” The word is tight and clipped, a sure sign of her discomfort and Clarke’s fingers tighten, just a little, her voice slightly uncertain when she says, tentatively.

“You don’t think so?”

“I have a duty to protect and nurture all of my people, Clarke.” She feels the girl’s deflation against her shoulder, as if she can see the hopes slip from her and be carried away along the water and so finally admits, a hint of tenderness to her words. “I suppose the children need more of my care than the others, though, until they are fully grown.”

She doesn’t need to look; she can imagine the curve of Clarke’s lips, a gentle slope against her cheeks.

“Yeah,” her chin presses against Lexa’s shoulder. The heavy armour stops her from feeling the outline, but the weight is there, firm and warm and steady. Lips brush against her neck, in the ghost of a kiss and her hand tightens on the hilt of her sword to stop herself from reaching out; they’re bordering on the line of impropriety when Clarke whispers, softly. “I want one.”

And time stands still.

\----

Clarke is too good for her.

She gives her time, tells her not to worry about it. She presses a kiss to Lexa’s frozen, fearful face and moves away into the woods.

The topic is not brought up again and Lexa spends two weeks skirting around the subject, around Clarke, around _everything_ because she can’t quite figure out how to process this idea.

Clarke says nothing, but now that Lexa is looking for them she can see the long, wanting gazes that Clarke throws to the children running around the camp and her heart burns, but not as it used to.

\----

The accident comes, quite coincidentally, two weeks after Clarke’s soft words had ripped through her life.

She is on a hunting trip. In the _Skaikru_ ’s culture it is not normal that a leader should be part of such routine exercise, but Lexa’s people are not of the sky and it is important that she shows them that she is still strong, still agile, still ready to work for her right to live as they all do. They hunt through the forest, away from the permanent gathering they have constructed near to the Ark, the gathering that is slowly becoming a village, the two sets of people spilling over their preconceived boundaries and merging together. While her people build mud huts below, Lexa remains in her tent, high on the hill where she can look down at them all. It suits her, this life of a warrior filled with movement and activity; she has never been someone who settled, not in battle or in life.

Their path takes them through the lands of her people and they pass villages as they go. There are more gatherings closer to Lexa’s base than there were four years ago, just huts and tents at the moment, but Lexa is sure they will strive in this time of peace and turn to villages. They congregate because it is safer for people to be close to their Commander and when she passes, high on her steed, they call out the mantra that has followed her for years. _Heda, Heda, Heda_.

“Your fans are scaring off all the prey.” Octavia comments dryly from beside her, shifting easily above her horse and Lexa glances over at her, smiling slightly.

“They are pleased to see their commander, that is all.”

They spot a small group of deer, a mother and two fawns, and the hunt begins. Octavia shoots a glance at her, the twinkle in her eyes bright, and shoots forward on her horse to make the first shot at the creatures. A smile twitches at Lexa’s lips again and she urges her own mount forwards, following in the sky girl’s trail as they race towards the kill. It’s at times like this that she is grateful for her people; the people who will respect and honour her while still expecting all they can from their Heda. She owes it to them to fulfil their hopes.

The deer are fast, fleeting glances of them visible through the trees as they catch sight of the hunt- loud and fast, made up of plenty of her people- and bolt through the woodland. Alone, the mother would do well, but the fawns hold her back, stumbling over tree roots and they are soon within an arrow shot of the animals. Lexa reaches over her back for an arrow, notching it in her bow and pulling back, her horse easily guiding her through the trees. She easily outstretches the rest of the hunt and she can see that behind her, her warriors are notching their own arrows, drawing back to fire. It’s at that moment, however, that keen eyes spot the two small figures, running through the forest, between the hunt and their prey. Before her eyes, one falls and the other pauses, reaching back to help them up and through the dim light of the forest, she sees the whites of their eyes staring at the hunt, small mouths open in fear. She pulls her horse in a sharp circle, curving around just in front of the startled children. One moment more and she would have trampled them and she turns in her saddle to hold out a hand to the upcoming hunt.

“ _Hod op!_ ”

Many of them pull backwards, alarmed at the sight of their commander stood before their prey, but it is too late for some and she is unable to dodge the arrow that pierces her just below her ribcage, splitting through harsh leather and impacting deeply into her flesh. She grunts, jerking backwards involuntarily and her horse spooks, bolting forwards and sending her sprawling off the back of her mount, hitting the forest floor with a thump that leaves her dazed.

Shouts come from her warriors, but Lexa’s eyes are drawn upwards towards the children, staring down at their fallen commander in amazement. She struggles to her knees, gasping for breath even as she hears people dismounting, the disorder and confusion from behind her and pain lances through her ribs.

“ _Hei,_ ” she speaks softly, so as not to alarm them and they blink at her for a moment, the smallest of the pair- a little girl in a tattered tunic- slipping behind her brothers legs as they murmur their own greetings. “ _Yu laik sath_?” They nod tiny heads, barely able to speak in her presence and she hears a shout from behind her, drawing her around.

“Commander!” It is Octavia, falling to her knees beside her to brush cautious hands close to her wound, where Lexa can now see her leathers are beginning to soak in blood.

“I am well, Octavia.” She shrugs away her concern impatiently, gesturing to the two children. “They say they are fine, but we would do well to get them back to their village.”

“Of course,” Octavia rises smoothly, watching as Lexa struggles for a moment, heaving herself to her feet and reaching out against her will to grab Octavia’s shoulder to support her weight. “But you’re our priority, commander. You’re hurt.”

Lexa presses her lips together, eyes flickering over to the children for a moment, before nodding. “Very well. But be sure to take those children back where they came from.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Octavia promises, solemnly.

\----

Later, lying on her cot with Clarke pressed up into her side, tracing ever so gentle fingers over the newly bandaged wound in her chest, she is drifting, almost asleep when Clarke says.

“Octavia told me you saved those children.”

“Hmm?” Her mind fogged by sleep, she nods slowly. “I guess. They would have been trampled.”

Clarke hums softly in agreement, fingers counting the scars up Lexa’s chest, coasting the rises and falls of her marred skin. She watches Clarke’s fingers, following them with tired eyes as the girl seems to count every ridge, every ripped nerve and torn tendon, every slice and slash and stitch. She remembers the first time Clarke saw her this way, many nights after she saw the smooth expanse of Clarke’s skin. She remembers being tempted out of her clothes, until she finally stood in only her undergarments and her vest, clinging to the bottom of it. With her face bare of kohl, her red sash and armour lying in a corner and her braids slowly unravelling, she had felt so very vulnerable all of a sudden, staring at the golden haired angel beside her with wide eyes. Gently, Clarke had tugged away the material and then unwound the bindings wrapped around Lexa’s chest, as tentative and tender as if she was unwrapping a new born babe from its swaddling. She had lain Lexa down in her furs and taken hour upon hour to map Lexa’s skin, following the constellations of her scars and reading the story that they etched into her body, chasing each one with her lips as if they may escape her.

“You are beautiful,” she had murmured into Lexa’s ear and for the first time, Lexa had believed her.

“I kind of thought you didn’t care,” Clarke’s careful words from beside her now jerk her from her reverie, confused brows pulling together to stare at the girl until she expands. “I thought you hated children.”

“No,” Lexa runs her fingers through Clarke’s hair, teasing gently at the tangles as she stares up at the rough material of her tent. “They are my people and they, above all others, need protection.”

“Then... why, Lexa?” She stiffens at the words and Clarke obviously feels it, pushing herself up on one elbow to stare down at her, blue eyes hard and soft at the same time, an impossible contradiction. “Why can’t we have a baby?”

“Well,” she tries for a small smile, weak and shaky as it may be. “Anatomy is an issue.”

“We can work around that,” Clarke insists, eyes wide and Lexa feels a flood of guilt rush through her, like the breaking of a dam, when she sees the twinge of hope in the back of her gaze. “But if you don’t _want_ children with me... I understand.”

“I do,” her brows crease again, the words escaping her before she can stop them. “Of course I do Clarke, I just...”

“You just what?” The ocean stares down at her and a gentle hand touches her face, pads of her fingers brushing against her skin. “Please help me understand, Lexa.”

She struggles for the words, grasping like a child in the dark for anything she could possibly say and finally, when it seems like the silence will envelope them both forever, she musters, “ _hodness laik kwelness._ ”

She thinks she sees Clarke’s heart break before her eyes.”Lexa,” her voice is soft, pitying and Lexa can’t bear to look at her, turning her eyes back to the tent and tightening her jaw, immediately regretting her words. “You know that isn’t true,” Clarke implores, quietly. “You _know_.”

“The only thing I _know_ ,” her voice is harsh, rough with fear and anger that quivers just below the surface, “is that I lost someone once, because I loved them and I run that risk with you _every day_. I can’t put a child through that. I can’t add them to that list.” She feels as if her very soul is trembling at the idea, shaking her out of her bones and she curls her fingers into the furs below them, anchoring herself.

Clarke is silent for a moment, considering her words and Lexa’s eyes flicker back to her, watching the worry distort her beautiful face. “The war is over,” she says finally, voice quiet. “We’ve been at peace for four years, your people have prospered.”

“The war is never over.” Her response, though murmured, is icy. “Costia taught me that.”

Clarke’s eyes stay fixed to her, she can feel them burning into her skin as she stares upwards, consciously ignoring the girl beside her. Finally, the blonde lets out a soft sigh and places her head back on Lexa’s chest, curling her arms in close to her body as if she is holding herself together.

“I didn’t realise it was that important to you.”

Clarke shifts a little, as if uncomfortable, “After all the death we’ve seen, it would be nice to bring new life into the world. And I _love you_ , Lexa. I want to share this with you.”

“But it would not be my child.” She insists, softly and Clarke hoists herself up again, eyes soft.

“It would be in every way that mattered.” She promises and her words are said like a prayer, reverent and heavy.

“ _Clarke_ ,” it pains her to see the agony that rips apart the girl beside her, “... the danger. It is too much.”

“It won’t be,” Clarke leans down to press tender lips to her cheeks, her jaw, her nose. “I promise. I _promise_.”

“You can’t promise that,” she argues, but her body reacts without her consent when Clarke dips her head to kiss at her neck, a slight gasp escaping her.

“Do you trust me?” The blonde lifts her head, meets her eyes and suddenly it’s four years ago and she is in this very tent, rifling through war papers in an attempt to not get lost in Clarke’s gaze and her heart is beating so hard that she feels like it might be trying to escape her chest. They’re going backwards.

“Of course,” she breathes and Clarke nods, once.

“Then please, at least think about this. For me.”

She’s close, oh so close and Lexa can read her eyes, as blue and as deep as the ocean, can read every line and crack, the light and the dark that linger there and the bright light of hope makes her stomach churn.

“For you,” she echoes and Clarke’s smile is wider than it should be as she reaches down to kiss Lexa.

\----

They speak with Abby, in a secretive meeting in the medical bay of the Ark. Despite her connection to Clarke and many of the other original 100, Lexa has never really been that comfortable in the Ark. The _Skaikru_ watch her uncertainly as she goes, eyes sharp as they take in her clothes, the sword at her hip and the braids woven through her hair, still so foreign to so many of them. She leaves her guard at the entrance and feels her throat tighten as she steps through into the cold, metal tunnels. She is used to light and the forest underfoot, this place feels strange and alien to her, but even worse is the pressure she can feel building in her chest, the panic and worry settling heavily over her lungs. Her chin remains up, high and regal, but Clarke seems to see her face pale beneath her kohl, because she reaches out to take her hand and urge her onwards. Lexa wonders if Clarke knows she would follow her anywhere.

Abby explains how it works to them. She tells them how, before the war, women would use a donor to become pregnant, there would be millions of sperm donations but obviously that option is not open to them. The equipment, however, is relatively simple and they can replicate the procedure, despite the risks, as long as they can find a willing sperm donator. She glances between them, from Lexa’s stoic expression to the worry she can see in Clarke’s and trails off.

“It's really your only option.”

The words stick with her for the next few days, spinning around her head. She thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so hard if she didn’t know exactly whom Clarke would go to, where Clarke would turn; but after all of this time she knows the blonde well and when she sees her talking to Bellamy, across the training ground from her, she feels her jaw tighten.

She barks orders in Trigadeslang and the fighters obediently switch out, allowing her to step into the arena. She fights all fifteen men and is beaten by none. Only when Indra steps into the ring does she meet her match, fatigue from her earlier battles wearing her down until she trips, stumbling on her own feet and sending herself sprawling to the dry, trodden down dirt. Indra reaches out a hand, helps her up and wraps an arm around her waist.

“Heda, we must get you to the healer.”

It is only then that she notices the blood dripping from the nasty gashes she has suffered, the pounding of her head and the ache in her bones and a rush of shame runs through her. She has been rash, irresponsible in her jealousy.

When Clarke returns to the tent, Lexa twists in the furs and pretends to sleep, even as Clarke slips in behind her, running a hand over her waist and cuddling close.

The pit that forms in her stomach seems to be there to stay.

\----

She agrees to it eventually.

Clarke wants a baby and Clarke makes her weak.

The conception process is maybe the worst. Clarke talks about her ovulation and insists that they have to time her _loun jus._ Lexa helps, because what more can she do now? Clarke has her heart set on a baby and Lexa is used to giving Clarke what she wants.

So she sits and plans Clarke's insemination. Her only condition is this: she cannot be there. She cannot trust herself to be there.

She and Clarke are together the night before. Clarke tries to lie her down and track her body, the way she did when they were first intimate, but something takes over and Lexa pushes her backwards so hard that the cot rocks beneath them at her impact. She claims Clarke, consumes her until the girl is crying out, strangled sighs and breathy words, with hands tugging at her braids. After, when she crawls up to lie beside her, Clarke reaches a shaking hand over to touch her hip softly, wide eyes questioning.

“Do you want me to...?”

“No.” She is curt and Clarke jerks, brows furrowing for a moment before Lexa softens her voice and says, “you are tired. This was for you.”

Clarke seems satisfied, nodding once and turning to burrow her head into the crook of Lexa’s neck, holding her close.

Lexa watches her sleep in the darkness, eyes wide open for long enough to see the bruises blossom over her girl’s neck and collarbones.

She hopes Bellamy knows what they mean.

\----

The next day, Lexa hunts. She is vicious and ruthless and stoic; her travelling companions understand what this means and allow her to work out her frustrations until the sun has slipped behind the ruins of Mount Weather and they are cast into darkness. She returns to camp reluctantly, with two boars, a deer and a black bear, all of which she deposits without so much of a glance at the smoke houses.

Clarke sits in her tent. She is on the floor when Lexa enters, on a woven grass mat and before her she has a selection of herbs, which she is calmly sorting, one from the other, into separate piles.

“Hi,” she greets her with a brief smile, before her eyes fall back to her herbs, busy hands working tirelessly at the large pile of greenery beside her.

Lexa feels frozen in the entrance, watching Clarke carefully for a moment, waiting for something, _anything_ to show that something has changed, that Clarke feels as she does. Nothing comes.

“Will you make tea?” Clarke asks, without raising her head and Lexa is able to give one stiff nod, striding across the tent with all of the purpose in the world to fill a bronze pot with water and place it over the carefully constructed fire just outside of their tent. She stands there, just by the entrance, eyes staring out over the camp they have constructed together and for some strange, vindictive reason her gaze seeks out Bellamy, setting out on an impossible hunt for the boy between the lines of tents and huts. He is nowhere to be seen and she thinks that maybe that is a good thing.

“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice startles her and she leans down to scoop up the whistling bronze pot, pacing back into the room to fill two clay cups with the hot water, stirring a pinch of herbs to each before passing it over to the blonde on the floor. “Thank you,” the cup is laid beside her and she keeps her eyes down as she works, nevertheless asking. “How was your day?”

She considers her words carefully, taking the time to shrug her heavy armour off her shoulders and reach for her long, fur-lined coat, leaving it hanging open as she says. “Productive, our hunt was fruitful.”

“Good,” Clarke’s eyes dart up to hers, a momentary flash of blue again as Lexa slowly lowers herself to the floor beside her, playing with her cup between her fingers.

A short silence stretches between them, heavy and still, like the warm air before a storm and Lexa struggles for a moment. Her heart thumps in her chest, her cheeks hot with something between embarrassment and anger and she stares down, hoping that Clarke won’t notice. When she speaks, the words are dragged from her, stilted and unnatural. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” Something jerks, clicking inside her head and she looks up, peering at Clarke as her fingers continue to sort through herbs, “I had to go and help a woman at the Ark who had broken her leg. Some cart had fallen onto her, it was a pretty bad injury actually but my mom was there so we worked pretty fast and-” Clarke’s fingers are trembling. The words spill from her as if from a waterfall and Lexa feels her heart drop suddenly, falling into her stomach as she reaches out to grasp Clarke’s fingers, stilling their frantic movements.

“Clarke,” by contrast, her voice is now steady and even. “What happened with the insemination?”

Clarke is silent for a long moment, but her breathing becomes more ragged and when Lexa gently tilts her chin up to meet her gaze, she sees that the sky is glistening in her eyes.

“Did they hurt you?” She prompts and barely concealed rage rushes through her, pooling in her stomach as her jaw twitches. “I will kill that _branwada_.” She goes to stand, pushing herself up but Clarke grabs at her hand, pulling her down to sit again.

“No! No, Lexa they didn’t do anything, stop it.”

“Then... what?” She falls back into place. “Clarke, please tell me.”

“It was just...” she breaks off for a minute, shaking her head as she gathers her voice. “So much. So strange.” Her eyes flicker up to Lexa, meeting hers with a sincerity that is so very _Clarke_. “I wished you were there.”

“With you?” Her eyebrows shoot up and she shifts, uncertain.

“Well... yes.” Clarke shakes her head, shrugging as she shuffles a little closer across the mat. “To have you near would have been... comforting. A reminder of why I’m doing this.”

Lexa’s hand reaches out of its own accord, touching the small of Clarke’s back for a moment. Her mind is jumbled, her thoughts buzzing against her skull like bees against their hive, but when she speaks she is as steady as the forest pines, stretching high in the air. “If that is what you need.”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head, laughing a little self confidently. “No, it’s fine. I know you aren't comfortable with it, I would never force you.” Her eyes flicker up to look at Lexa from beneath her eyelashes and her voice drops, turning slightly husky. “I think you make Bellamy nervous. He saw what you did to my neck.”

“Good.” She bites out, jaw clenching a little, “you are your own person Clarke, I would never presume to say otherwise; but as much as you _are_ someone else’s, you are _mine_.”

“I know it,” Clarke’s words are soft, reassuring and when a gentle hand runs against her cheek she leans into the touch. “Remind me why we’re doing this?” The question is gentle, loving, “make love to me.”

“Always.” Lexa promises and leans forward to catch her lips.

\----

They continue, caught in a strange tension, trapped between hope and fear for what feels like the longest time.

It’s an adjustment, but she adapts. She has to, she’s the Heda. After a few months things shift and settle, like the sand after a wave pulls back into the ocean, slotting back into place, finding spaces between the cracks that widen in her heart every time Clarke leaves in the evening without her. She stuffs these spaces, fills them with duties and responsibilities. Her desire for peace increases, sending scouts out further and further into the forest to seek out new villages. There are colonies to the north, she has heard people speak of a city made of light, somewhere across the dead zone and she spends hours pouring over maps and charts, trying to find a way to get across the desert. Her scouts also report sightings of new colonies to the south, over the water where the land is hotter, the forests denser and more like the tales of jungles she has heard. She plans improvements to their villages, the kind now available with the expertise brought by the Ark, sits through long, tedious meetings with both Ark leaders and the leaders of the twelve villages.

One night, when she is sat late into the night, listening to Raven explain her plans for fresh water supply directly to the camp, she is jerked from her thoughts by Raven’s sharp voice.

“Commander?”

“Sorry,” she blinks for a second, eyes focussing on the plans in front of her, following the abundance of lines traced across it. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re not really concentrating.” Raven leans against the table, raising an eyebrow as she watches Lexa struggle for words.

“I apologise, I was distracted for a moment.”

“Try for twenty minutes,” Raven rolls her eyes, reaching out to gather up her plans from the table. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she runs her hands over her eyes for a moment, allowing herself a quick second of weakness and Raven pauses, stopping to look at her. Conflict slashes through her features, irritation warring with concern until she finally speaks.

“You know I’m not your biggest fan,” a smile tweaks Lexa’s lips upwards. Raven is refreshingly blunt, always has been and secretly Lexa rather enjoys her company. “But you and Clarke are... serious I guess. And if this baby thing is really bothering you, you should tell her.”

The smile slips from her face immediately, replaced instead by a harsh scowl as she paces around the table, closer to the sky girl. “I am very happy that Clarke and I will soon have a child.”

“Sure,” Raven scoffs, shaking her head so that her high ponytail whips at her neck. “But you’re definitely not happy that it's _Bellamy's_.”

Lexa fumbles, mouth opening but no words emerging as she gapes at the girl. Raven just arches a fine eyebrow in her direction, tucking the maps under her arm.

“I think that pretty much tells you everything you need to know, Lexa. Tell Clarke or it’ll only cause more pain later on.”

\----

When Clarke returns that night, Lexa wraps her in her embrace, tugs her close to her body as she sleeps and presses soft kisses to her neck and back.

Clarke, however, does not wake.

It seems holding her is all Lexa can offer now.

\----

Lexa is the first person Clarke tells, as it should be really. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised, but she is nonetheless.

They sit together, out in the early afternoon sun on the grass outside their tent; Lexa is involved in the methodical process of sharpening her blade, while she half watches Clarke sketch on a pad beside her, dark charcoal forming lines to make something as of yet undistinguishable. Guards stand watch, but they are far enough away that the illusion of privacy is strong and Lexa shifts, so that one foot is flat on the ground and she can rest her chin on her knee and stare out at her village, the familiar feeling of pride slipping into her stomach as she observes the peace that envelopes her lands.

“So, I um, I wanted to tell you something.” Clarke is stumbling over her words, a tell-tale sign that she is nervous and Lexa’s eyes flicker to her, frowning slightly.

“Should I be worried?”

“No,” Clarke answers quickly, but her eyes stay stuck to the page in front of her and Lexa realises with a start that Clarke is drawing her war paint, as she has many times before. “I just... I think I could be pregnant.”

Her breath catches in her throat and for a minute everything is still, her eyes drawn automatically down to Clarke’s stomach, as if the evidence of a baby, the protruding, extended stomach, will already be visible. Her hands reach out, as if of their own accord, and hover, inches away from Clarke’s skin. She is precious, a fragile being now that Lexa knows she is carrying new life inside of her.

Periwinkle blue meets rich forest green and she sees tears in the blonde’s eyes, a smile stretching her lips up.

“I wasn’t sure when to tell you,” Clarke’s whisper is soft, barely a breath. “But I’ve missed two periods and I thought... it was probably a good sign.”

“A baby.” Lexa mutters, eyes flicking back to her flat stomach again. “You think you have been blessed with life.”

“I do,” the choked sound of Clarke’s words betray her tears and Lexa reaches out automatically, allowing Clarke to burrow into her, propriety be damned. Clarke’s fingers wrap into the cloth of her shirt, knuckles pressing against her back harshly as rivulets of joy run down her cheeks and soak the skin of Lexa’s neck. “We’re going to be a family.”

Lexa says nothing, instead just resting her chin on the crown of Clarke’s head and pressing her lips together, clinging tightly as if hoping that some of Clarke’s joy will force its way through her skin and into Lexa’s heart.

_A family._

She’s never had such a thing before.

How can she ever hope to provide one?

\----


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's true that my people are important to me Clarke, but you're more than one of my people... you're my person."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos to dontlovemelikexo on tumblr for correcting my 2am mistakes

Clarke grows, ballooning in size, swelling with new life and Lexa watches it in awe.

She feels blessed to even be able to touch Clarke like this, to feel the curve of her stomach with her hands, to press against the skin with soft fingers and lips. Every night, she undresses Clarke with reverence, running tender hands over her skin until she reaches the slight arch of her stomach and she can pause, kneeling before her to place a kiss above her bellybutton. They lie together on Lexa’s furs and Lexa circles her hands around Clarke’s stomach, holding it protectively.

For now it is theirs, their little secret to hold and treasure together. She has never seen Clarke this happy and it seems that her joy does indeed imprint itself into Lexa’s heart. She pushes away any trepidation. The worst is over, Clarke is no longer slipping away alone at night and any other fears are not for this time, should not cast their shadow over the happiness Clarke feels.

Clarke lights up with her new life. Her secret glows from inside of her and when they meet eyes from across the camp, Lexa sees the smile brighten the blonde’s face, a hand wandering to touch her stomach, just briefly. She’s more beautiful than ever, if that is possible.

When they are alone together, Lexa talks to the baby. It is tradition, she tells Clarke solemnly, that a child is talked to in the womb, the Trigedakru culture explained in detail, legends and fables told to them to nurture them in their growth, to make them strong and healthy. Clarke doesn’t seem to entirely understand, but she laces her fingers in Lexa’s hair, teasing out her braids as her Commander lays her head against her stomach and whispers soft words.

It is a happy, peaceful time.

It cannot last and that scares Lexa more than anything else.

\----

After three months, Clarke insists that Bellamy must be told.

Lexa thinks he probably knows, at least in some way. He is Clarke’s friend and he was so closely intertwined with their efforts that he must have seen the change in her and known it for what it was. If not he is a fool, she thinks bitterly.

They tell him together, in Lexa’s tent, away from prying ears and he beams and hugs Clarke so hard that she is lifted from the ground. Lexa almost stands from her throne, momentarily concerned until she hears Clarke’s elated laughter. When they part Bellamy looks to her and he smiles.

“Congratulations _Heda_.”

Her title feels wrong from the man who, despite her distaste, will be the father of her child. She inclines her head politely and says, voice steady and civil. “Lexa, Bellamy. We are family now.”

“I guess we are,” Bellamy seems a little alarmed at the prospect. _Good_.

He turns back to Clarke, hands reaching out to touch her and as much as she wishes he would not, Lexa understands the temptation. Clarke is irresistible in this state, one feels as if they must touch her just to make sure that she is real, that she is not some ethereal being.

“God, Clarke I can’t believe this.” His smile almost splits his face in two and Lexa feels a twinge of something close to guilt when she remembers her own reaction. “I’m so happy for you.” His hands run down to rest over hers, where they rest on her stomach and they look suddenly so much the young couple, expecting their first child, that Lexa stands abruptly, striding down from her throne.

“Thank you,” Clarke is smiling at him, eyes so soft with affection that Lexa feels her heart jolt.

“We both thank you, Bellamy.” Lexa’s hand runs over Clarke’s back, curling around her hip gently. “Without you this would not be possible.” His eyes move to her and she is glad that her earlier meeting with the council members required her to wear her war paint because even after all this time she sees the tightening of his jaw, the sharpening of his gaze over the dark kohl that she obviously labels her as _alien, an outsider._

Family is one thing, but past mistrust cannot be unwritten.

\----

The whispers seem to follow her. She wonders if she is being paranoid, if her adolescent self- which was barely blooming when it was crushed by the sudden realities of leadership and blood and war- is finally flowering, choosing now to make Lexa see enemies in every corner, even within her own camp. Indra marches on one side of her, one of her seconds, a promising young warrior named Liza, flanking her right and she tightens her grip on her hilt as she moves throughout the tents and the huts.

Where once there had just been warriors, there are now families. A leader cannot expect to call so many warriors to arms and have them leave their families for four years and so slowly families have migrated to their camp, now more of a sprawling village, or been born there. She passes smokehouses and weavers and bakers, children digging in a vegetable garden who look up to peer at her from between the cabbage leaves and wives who stop their chores to bow their heads at her approach.

Though respectful, she can’t seem to shake the feeling that they are staring, that secret smiles are being exchanged and harried words exchanged at the sight of her. It’s suffocating, a high, heady pressure that settles around her. She thinks she is maybe going mad.

Lexa is almost glad when the young man, a baker by the look of his flour covered apron, steps forward with a respectful bow. Indra goes to draw her sword, but Lexa holds out a hand to stop her, looking to the man with curious eyes as he stutters over his words.

“Heda, we would lead to congratulate you on...” He speaks in broken English and pauses, struggling for the right word before finally settling on the Trigedaslang alternative. “ _Goufa_.”

Her heart constricts and she steps forward in several quick strides, reaching to grasp the man by the collar of his shirt and yank him forward. His wife yelps and the surrounding villagers draw back in alarm at the sight of their Heda’s anger and Indra’s drawn blade.

“ _Chon saki tis_?” Her voice is a growl, grating angrily against her throat and the man trembles, cowering before her as he gestures his hands around uselessly, too terrified to speak.

His answer is clear: everyone knows, it is no secret.

She pushes him away, letting him stumble back to the open arms of his wife and turns to look back at her people, where they stare at her in astonishment. Her jaw ticks furiously and she remembers Clarke’s insistent words, forcing her to swear to keep this a secret. It seems they have been betrayed.

She turns on her heel, stalking away and hears Indra’s voice behind her, sharp and strong with reprimand, pushing and forcing through the harsh Trigedaslang words and they ring loud and clear through the air.

_You would do well to wait for your Commander’s confirmation on such topics._

She doesn’t stay to see how her people react to this comment. Her pounding feet lead her through the village and everything is white and hot, rage consuming her as she walks, barking a few hasty orders that bring six more warriors to her side, flanking her as she marches down towards the _skaikru’s_ camp. The gates are always open now, a physical sign of their sound alliance, and so she has no trouble getting past their fences. People turn to stare, faces drawn and tense as they notice the savage commander striding through their camp with such purpose, but Lexa pays them little heed.

Bellamy’s figure appears from behind, talking to a group of guards, his posture slack and easy, relaxed but as she approaches he stiffens, turning to look at her with alarm. The boy steps forward, once, twice, before they are stood inches away and Lexa steps forward to grab him, spinning him around to place her dagger to his neck and he jolts, crying out in alarm. Frantic hands come to claw at hers as his friends grab their guns, the familiar click of sounding as they prepare to fire and her own warriors draw their blades.

“Hey _dare you_?” Lexa hisses, voice curt and furious in his ear as Bellamy wriggles for freedom. “You had no right to tell everyone about Clarke, you knew she wanted to keep the child hidden, you knew it was _necessary_!”

“I didn’t-” his voice catches, “I didn’t tell anyone Lexa! Why _would_ I?”

“You’re the only one who knew!” Her blade presses closer, nicking the skin and she watches, satisfaction curling in her stomach at the sight of the thin trail of blood running down his neck.

“Lexa!” Clarke’s voice is jarringly familiar, pulling her away from the scene before her and she turns, eyes falling on blonde hair and an old blue jacket. “What are you _doing_?” Clarke appears by her side in seconds, reaching for her arm and tugging it away from Bellamy. Lexa softens, letting the pressure slip away, but keeping the boy still in her arms.

“He told everyone,” she murmurs, leaning slightly closer so that her words carry to Clarke and Clarke alone. “Even when you asked him not to! They all know about the... _goufa_.”

“I didn’t!” Bellamy grunts, twisting to try to see Clarke, meet her eyes and plead for his life.

Lexa jerks him back, “you were the only one who knew!”

“No he wasn’t!” Clarke’s grip on her arm tightens and she pulls Lexa away more harshly, forcing her hand to drop and Bellamy uses the new freedom to scramble out of her hold, his hand pressed to his neck. Clarke is fury itself, thunderclouds and a stormy sea and for a moment Lexa thinks that she is powerful enough that she could get the world to bow before her. “I told my _mother_ Lexa!”

“Your... mother.” She stumbles over the word, eyes going wide as she looks to the bloody dagger in her hand and then to Bellamy, staring at her with sincere distaste. “I see.” She finally speaks, weakly. “My apologies, Bellamy.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Bellamy just shakes his head, evidently still dazed and turns to disappear between the tents.

Clarke stands for a moment, evidently torn between berating Lexa and following Bellamy, before she steps away, casting a glare in Lexa’s direction. “We will talk.” She says and it sounds more like a threat than a promise.

Her words chase Lexa all the way back to her tent.

\----

Clarke forgives her, eventually. There is tension, stifling for them both, and they take some time to themselves. Lexa spends long days out with her council, meeting with the clans, overseeing the beginnings of Raven’s new water supply and hearing reports from scouts of scavengers from northern clans encroaching in their territory. Warriors are sent out to deal sharply with the disturbance, however they return with disturbing stories of skeleton men and ghostly monsters. She dismisses them as fantasy and is assured that, as mythical as the scavengers may have been, they have been disposed of, one left alive to take their message back to their clans.

“They will not disturb us again, Heda.” One of her warriors assures her as they stride up towards her tent and she nods once.

“Thank you, Furgus. You may go. Rest well, friend.”

In her tent one of her seconds waits, Marcus who is no older than fifteen but strong and tall and competent in battle. He assists her in taking off her armour, collecting it to be cleaned and taking all weapons but her dagger to be sharpened and fixed.

“Thank you Marcus,” she shrugs into her fur lined coat, over her vest and deerskin chaps. “Where is Clarke?”

“Oh,” he hesitates, “ _Heda, em laik-”_

“ _English_ , Marcus.” She waves her hand tiredly, collapsing into her throne to watch him expectantly. “You must practice.”

“Uh, yes Heda,” he bows his head slightly, “Clarke is gone to the Skaikru shelter, for the night.”

Her eyes harden and her jaw tenses just a little, but she says nothing else, waving a hand to send him away. Beneath her the throne feels suddenly stiff, unwieldy and she shifts. Her eyes dart to her furs, but the thought of disrobing and collapsing into them without Clarke beside her is enough to make her lips curl in disgust and she stands restlessly, pacing from one side of the tent to the other, before finally bursting through the opening.

Her guards jolt in surprise, hurrying to follow her, but she sends them away with a few words thrown over her shoulder and instead makes her way to the Ark with no warriors at her side. At the gate she is met with hesitation. The men that guard it are not so quick to forget events passed and they watch her go with suspicion. She feels abruptly bare, covered as she is in only her most comfortable robe, her face clean of war paint, only a dagger for protection and her braids loose in her hair, falling in front of her face. She looks young, she is sure, and weak. For a moment her feet stutter, almost coming to a halt, almost turning to go back, but she thinks of Clarke and she thinks of the child she is not currently protecting and forces her feet onwards.

At the door a guard presumes to stop her, reaching out to bar her entrance, but his companion shakes her head and pushes his gun away, nodding for Lexa to continue on her way. Her feet tread quick footsteps on the grated floor of the Ark and she barely recognises the unusual looks she receives as she strides through the metal tubes, her coat flying out behind her.

At the quarters Clarke still officially shares with her mother, she pauses, hand stilling over the door handle. Clarke’s furious eyes are still burned into her memory and she wonders whether she will be sent away, whether she is overstepping her boundaries, coming to this place that is only Clarke’s. While the blonde seems in place at the Grounder camp and in Lexa’s furs, she is blatantly out of place here, all dark skin, kissed by the sun throughout her life and tangled braids, whipped by the wind, she is an alien object in these lifeless tunnels.

The sound of retching from inside the room makes her decision for her and she steps inside, greeted by the sight of Clarke bent over a bucket beside the bed. She is quivering, her hair falling in her face and her fingers shaking as she struggles and Lexa doesn’t think, cannot think, taking long steps forward to squat easily beside her girl. Tender hands pull back her hair, one journeying to rub circles against her back and she leans across, gathering up as much of Clarke’s hair as she can to shift it off her neck and blow cool, soothing breaths onto the flushed skin, as is their norm. Clarke’s eyes flit up to look at her, but she does not remark at Lexa’s presence, too focused on the task at hand and for a few minutes they are silent, offering comfort and support to one another as this daily trial is carried out.

Finally, when it seems Clarke is done, Lexa stands, searching for a moment before her eyes alight on a bottle of water. She passes it to Clarke as the girl gets on the bed, sitting shakily and swilling out her mouth, spitting the remnants into the bucket at her side. Lexa moves hastily to place it out of the way and then lingers uncertainly in the small living space, hovering in the doorway to the bedroom to watch.

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks finally and her voice is heavy, tired.

“I just... I wanted to see you.” The words fall from her uneasily. She has always been taught that love is weakness and to show it is to commit the gravest of sins and so such words do not come with ease. She swallows and musters her pride, continuing. “You are not normally away from me at night.”

“I know.” Clarke nods once, hard eyes flickering up to meet Lexa’s. “But I wanted to be alone tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s automatic, an apology that only Clarke will ever hear. “I was just worried.”

“Well you shouldn’t be.” Clarke snaps, leaning back to stretch out her back and Lexa can see the small bump beneath her shirt. She makes no move to get closer, to move to touch it. Such liberties are too much at this time. “I can handle myself fine.”

“I see,” she murmurs the words and it seems that their conversation is over. Yet, she can’t bear to leave and so words spill from her, desperately filling the empty space between them. “I think perhaps I came for myself, also.”

“You did?” Clarke’s eyes wander back to her again, curious and Lexa lets out a soft sigh, nodding.

“It is hard for me to sleep without you... without knowing I can protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she replies, sharply and Lexa inclines her head once in acknowledgement.

“No, of course not. But...” she swallows again, battling against her dry throat. “I need you by me, to know that I am doing my job, that I am keeping you safe...” green eyes flicker to her stomach momentarily, “both of you.”

Clarke watches her for a moment and then lets out a soft sigh and with it all of the tension in her body, sagging forward. “I know why you were angry,” she allows, softly, “but your behaviour was unacceptable, Lexa.”

“I am the Heda,” she knows the words are a mistake the second she says them and Clarke’s fiery eyes prove her right.

“Not _here_ ,” she hisses and her voice is harsh. “You can’t just barge in and start hurting people Lexa! _Especially_ not the father of our child!”

“I was in the wrong,” she agrees, pressing her lips together as shame shadows her face and her eyes drop to the floor. “I am sorry, Clarke.”

There is a moment of silence before a hand touches her arm and her eyes dart up to see Clarke beside her. She looks soft and tired and beautiful and Lexa has to resist fumbling forwards and kissing her. She has no right to at the moment.

“I know why you did it,” Clarke’s voice is reassuringly affectionate, her touch gentle. “I understand what you have lost and that having a child means one more thing for you to worry about,” she hesitates and then another hand is cupping Lexa’s cheek, drawing her eyes up to meet the blue of a bright winter’s morning. “And I know that this set up with Bellamy is not ideal, but you have to learn to trust me, Lexa.” The hand on her cheek falls to brush against hers, stiff by her side, and Clarke tangles their fingers together before bringing their intertwined hands up to rest against the curve of her stomach.

She spends the night alone, wrapped in cold furs and thinks that she deserves this punishment.

\----

The baby begins to kick a few weeks later. Lexa feels nothing at first, but Clarke swears it's there and runs her hands over her stomach and the widening of her eyes, the expression of total awe that flushes through her forces Lexa to nod, smiling at her softly. She feels nothing for the next two weeks and it is only when she sleeps, curled up behind Clarke, one hand resting protectively over the curve of her stomach, that she feels the movement, sudden and sharp against her palm. She jolts awake, head rising from her pillow to stare down at Clarke's stomach in surprise as the feeling comes again, a tiny jerk against the skin. It feels strange, like something trying to break out of Clarke's body and she hesitates, brushing a hand across the skin for a moment as the child presses and prods.

Clarke shifts restlessly, eyes blinking open to frown at Lexa's astonished gaze and she turns onto her back, a hand reaching out to trace the line of Lexa's jaw as she speaks, voice rough and cracked. "Lexa? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Lexa blinks, eyes darting away from Clarke's stomach. "I just... I felt the child."

"Yeah," Clarke stretches, smiling wanly as her hands move to hold her own distended stomach in the dim light. "She's energetic tonight."

"She?" Lexa quirks her eyebrows in surprise, "you think it is a girl?"

Clarke flushes, chewing on her lip nervously as she shrugs against the furs. "It's just a hunch."

"I see," Lexa traces her hand ever so carefully across Clarke's stomach, tender and gentle as she feels the baby kick in response. Clarke flinches beneath her, shifting in discomfort and she withdraws her hand quickly. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Clarke echoes her earlier words, but continues, "I think she's... responding to your touch? She recognises it as something strange."

"She is kicking me away." Lexa's face falls, her heart dropping for a moment as sadness engulfs her, wrapping her in its embrace and collecting in her throat to form a pit there, choking her words with tears. She pushes away, distancing herself until Clarke's hand reaches out to grasp hers.

"No, she's just excited you're here; she likes your voice as well."

"She does?" Lexa hesitates, sceptical eyes flickering between Clarke's eyes and her stomach. "How do you know?"

"She moves more when she hears you speak," Clarke runs a hand up her stomach, smiling softly. "But it would sure be great if she wouldn't do it _right now_. Her mom is trying to sleep."

"Sleep then," Lexa instructs her, softly. "She will not disturb you."

Clarke's eyes have drifted shut and her chest is rising and falling slowly and steadily when the movement from beneath her palm comes again. Lexa's eyes flicker open at the feeling, pushing herself up to lean carefully on her elbow. Her hand circles Clarke's stomach gently, her tender touch soothing and the baby presses again, but more softly this time.

"Hush now," her voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. "Sleep, _hod_. _Nomon laik haur_."

\----

The seasons slip slowly, a gentle flush from summer to autumn. The trees begin to darken, leaves become crisp where they cling to their branches. With the change comes the autumn rains and the damp that covers everything and Lexa begins preparations for the harvest and the risks that may threaten their tribes in the dark months to come. Winter brings creatures, forced from their hiding places by hunger, and scavengers come for the same reasons. The most they can do is ensure that the fences surrounding both camps are strong and heavy, the wood firm and the gates securely locked.

Clarke becomes bigger still, swelling like the fruits of the summer. Her temperament, while always stubborn, becomes changeable, quick to anger and faster still to calm. It gives Lexa whiplash, though she tries to keep up as best she can. Fortunately she is often called away by her duties to her people and so when Clarke does see her, it is more likely that she will pour all of her other concerns to Lexa's patient ears, as opposed to picking new battles.

Still, when Lexa arrives into their tent to find Clarke sat on their furs, curled around her stomach, her back shaking with heaving sobs, Lexa feels her stomach drop. She doesn't pause to remove her sword at the entrance to their home, instead striding across the woven mats that make up the floor and sitting gently beside her girl, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.

"Clarke, what's wrong?"

Clarke stiffens, her shoulders tightening and she runs impatient hands over her cheeks, brushing away her tears. Lexa sees her throat bob as she swallows and when she speaks her voice betrays her, cracking and croaking over her words.

"Nothing."

"Clarke," Lexa's eyebrows pull close together, worry creasing her face into a tight expression. "You can tell me."

"It's not important," Clarke shrugs away her gentle touch, standing as quickly as she can while cradling her stomach, holding the baby close to herself as she stalks across the tent to stand in front of the war table, fingers fiddling with the small pieces that decorate the surface of it, twisting a fir tree over in her hands.

Lexa watches her. She knows better than to chase the girl now; if Clarke wants to move away from her then it is for good reason and so she stays on their furs as she says, softly.

"I would still like you to tell me."

"Why?" Clarke snaps over her shoulder, "you have other things to worry about. Your people." She spits the words out darkly and Lexa feels a rush of dread run through her. Slowly she gets to her feet, pacing across the room until she can stand beside the golden-haired girl, leaning against the table and looking down at her.

"It is true that my people are important to me, Clarke." She admits, steady and measured and she sees Clarke's fist tighten around the figurine. "But you are more than one of my people," gentle fingers trace over the back of Clarke's hand, feeling the stiff tension and weaving between her fingers, easing them away from the miniature. "You are my _person_."

Clarke's shoulder remain tense and high for a moment, stiff with some unknown anger before they suddenly drop and Lexa can only watch as the girl- soon to be a mother- curls in on herself, weighed down by her own fears.

A silence follows, but Lexa can bear it, running her thumb gently over the top of Clarke's hand as she waits for the blonde to speak. It is a reminder, simple and clear, that Lexa is here and that she is ready, whenever Clarke may be.

"There were people talking in the village." Her voice is low, dark and Lexa has to lean forward to listen to the unusually subdued tones. "They were talking about the expectations on your children, how the Commander traditionally raises great warriors, fighters who go on to be killed gloriously in battle."

"It is traditional," Lexa admits after a moment, her fingers tightening slightly around Clarke's. "The legends say that the blood of the Heda will run strong through the generations. It is meant to strengthen the whole clan. But," a soft, wry smile twitches at her lips and she inhales sharply before she continues, in an effort to keep her voice light, "my blood will not run in this child's veins."

"It doesn't matter." Clarke's fist slams down against the table, sudden and harsh and both women cringe at the sharp sound. Clarke brings her hand up to cradle it close and Lexa peers to see that she has smashed a figurine, the sharp wood gashing open her hand.

"Sit," she encourages softly, ushering Clarke to a chair away from the war table, collecting water and a bandage from their supplies to kneel before the woman, dabbing at her wounds with a damp rag.

"Lexa," Clarke voice is hushed now, weaker than before and when she chances a glance up, she sees that there are tears soaking her cheeks again. "It doesn't matter. This child will have all of that expectation on them and I'll have to watch them go out into battle. I don't _want_ that for our child."

"We can raise the child however we wish, Clarke," Lexa reassures her, eyes fixed firmly to her work on Clarke's hand.

"No we _can't,_ " Clarke shifts, agitated. "There'll be so many expectations Lexa!"

"Have we not already crossed all boundaries of propriety and tradition?"

Clarke falls silent at those words, watching her work quietly for a moment, before beginning to speak again, voice breaking over her words. "I want our child to live, Lexa. My mother... she tore away my childhood when she sent us down here, they _all_ did." Her voice catches and for a moment Lexa watches as Clarke tries to gather herself again, collecting the shredded parts of her and clutching them together. When she speaks again she is hard, steel and ice and stone, "they ripped our childhoods away with bloodied fingers and then they came down to the earth and smeared the blood on our cheeks and called us wrong and evil. I will never do that to my child."

"I will never let you." Lexa vows, softly and then shifts up so that she can touch Clarke's cheek, forcing her gaze upwards. "You are not alone Clarke, we will do this together. You are both mine and I will not allow any harm to come to either of you." Clarke sniffles, smiling slightly, but Lexa's voice remains solemn as she speaks, "but more importantly, you are _not_ your mother Clarke."

\----

The scavengers only continue as the winter months progress. It's a harsh winter, the winds are filled with ice and snow from the north and the white blanket covers the earth far earlier than expected, killing off the remaining harvest. Most animals have slunk away to hibernate, so the village is forced to fall back on the smoked meats and fish caught from the lake. However, while the animals hibernate, the clan-less scavengers have no such option and their desperation makes them daring. The worst of the winter months are only just beginning to spread their wings and envelope their land by the time Lexa has to execute the third scavenger for his crimes.

The baby is active and Clarke grunts and grumbles over the shifting and movement within her, but Lexa is fascinated. The child only grows in strength and soon she is able to see the imprint of tiny hands and feet through Clarke's skin. They are a marvel to behold, evidence of the person that Clarke is growing inside of her and Lexa spends hours watching and waiting for some sign of small limbs, pushing as if desperate to see the world.

She lies against Clarke's stomach and speaks to the skin, relating the snow fall and the whiteness of the sky high above them, blanketing them in clouds.

She does not describe the screams of the scavengers as she slit their throats.

As the air cools, their tent becomes a less hospitable home. Such a winter has not been felt in Lexa's lifetime and when Abby advises that they find somewhere warmer, if only for the sake of the baby, Lexa finds a small house, slightly separate from the rest of the village. She finds it difficult to stay in such a place, she hasn't been happy within the confines of cold stone walls for many years, but they are able to keep a fire stoked and lit at all times, which keeps both Clarke and the baby warm and there is a small bench, cushioned in many furs and close to the fire that Clarke likes to sit on and read the Old World books they found in Mount Weather.

Lexa's reading is basic at best and sometimes, when Clarke is feeling especially affectionate, she will read to Lexa, who stretches out across the bench and places her head close to Clarke's stomach, watching it for movement. At those moments, hidden away from the world, Lexa feels like some sort of woodland creatures in their warm, gloomy burrow, tucked around her family to keep them safe from the winter months.

They sit like this one day, Lexa's eyes almost shut as Clarke's soothing voice runs through the house, when there is a sudden break. Her eyes flick open and she jolts slightly, leaning up to look at Clarke in surprise.

"Is all well?" Her hand goes to touch Clarke's stomach automatically, brushing against it as Clarke blinks herself from her thoughts.

"Oh... yeah, I was just thinking about names."

"Names?" Lexa's brows crease together and her eyes dart to Clarke's stomach as she nods.

"Yeah, for the baby. Have you had any ideas?"

"No." She answers truthfully. "It has not crossed my mind."

"Really?" Clarke's eyes crease together. "It's been on my mind for a while."

"Well," Lexa shifts so that she's sitting, smiling slightly, "tell me."

"Right, so," she runs nervous hands over her stomach, cupping and curling around it. It's become something of nervous habit for her and Lexa wonders idly what she will do when the baby is born. "I was wondering if... for a boy, I was hoping we could call him Jake, after my dad."

The soft hope in her eyes is almost too much for Lexa, tentative and pure, like the first light of a spring sun through winter clouds and she nods once, her throat unexpectedly tight. "Of course. It would only be fitting."

"Really?" Clarke's hand shifts, coming to rest over hers and squeezing. "Thank you." A moment of settled, easy silence passes between them, eyes fixed on one another and Lexa wonders whether she could really drown in the oceans of Clarke's eyes like the stories Clarke reads her sometimes describe. It seems implausible, impossible, but Clarke had called it a metaphor and Lexa understands it suddenly, the feeling of falling that accompanies such notions. "What about for a girl?" Clarke's murmur cuts through the silence and Lexa hesitates for a moment, pressing her lips together and taking a deep breath before suggesting, quietly.

"Miya."

"Miya?"

"My mother's name," she supplies, "it would be nice to commemorate her after her death."

"We don't make up much of a family, do we?" Clarke smiles, but the sadness lining the contours of her face is not to be ignored. "One grandparent between both of us."

"We are all the family we need," Lexa promises, easily, clasping Clarke's hand in hers and bringing it to rest over her stomach.

"Me, you and Miya?"

"Or Jake." Lexa is pleased to see some of the sadness drop away from Clarke's eyes and she is unable to help leaning forward to catch her lips in a quick, gentle kiss, pulling back only far enough to murmur against her lips. "You are all I need, Clarke of the Sky People. If you are weakness, I will fall at your feet."

"Just stand by my side." Clarke breathes back, tugging her closer, "that's all I need."

\----

The first reports come in dribs and drabs. Villagers, runaways, begging for shelter from their Heda, come to the gates of their great village. They plead for an audience and Lexa dons her war paint and her red sash and seats herself on her throne as they are led in, one after another. Each tells her same story: ruin, massacre, thieves stealing in from the north, their villages turned to piles of ashes.

Lexa thanks them for their loyalty, has a tent set up to shelter the newcomers and sits in long council on the matter. Scouts are sent to the north to find the cause of the upheaval and they return with reports of raiders invading the northern most villages of the Trigadekru, their numbers overpowering the warriors of the villages.

One scout, older than most, flecks of silver in his hair and beard, hesitates before reporting, carefully. " _Emo tel Heda no na gonplei."_

A hiss escapes her and she rises from her throne, standing tall and strong as she stares down the scout brave enough to deliver such an insult.

They say the Heda will not fight.

When the Scouts are gone she shoots a look at Indra across the tent and says, her voice low, scratching over the harsh Trigadeslang.

"Emo na gonplei."

_We will fight._

\----

The fight is fast, as they always are, but burned into her memory with fire and smoke and blood.

Lexa leads the party of warriors to where they find the scavengers, grouped together inside the shell of one of the villages they raided. There is a scuffle, but her warriors have fought and trained to be the best and the winter has treated them well within the luxury of Lexa's walls. The scrawny and clan-less stand no chance. Lexa saves the leader for herself, fights hard and angry until the man in defenceless, castrate on the ground and Lexa is knelt over him, holding him down with the strength of her body and the edge of her knife against his throat. It takes only minutes to question before murmuring his final rights and slitting his throat, but the information he provides is troubling.

They are scavengers thrown from clans in the north, attacking the Trigedakru in hopes of pleasing their leader.

The words stay with Lexa on their return home, dampening her spirits in the wake of their victory and she ponders them. The Ice Nation are firmly allied with the Trigadekru, their new leader proving to be much more accommodating, but Lexa's maps do not show what clans reside to the north east of the alliance and the empty space feels suddenly wide and uncertain, filled with unknown enemies. She is still mulling over the words even as their party are let in through the gates and she dismounts as a gaggle of young warriors hurry forward to help stable the horses, as is their duty.

"Heda!" The words drags her from her thoughts and she looks up as Liza's pounding feet approach.

"Do not disturb me, Liza. I am wearied from the journey."

"I'm sorry Heda," she comes to a skidding stop at Lexa's side, sucking in deep breaths of air, her eyes wide and frantic. Something is wrong, Lexa realises with a jolt. "You must hurry! The baby!"

"Clarke? The baby?" Lexa demands and reaches out, grabbing Liza's arm to shake her firmly. "What's wrong, Liza?"

"The baby is coming!"

Lexa's world is bright white for just a second; hot, raw fear runs through her. She has just fought a battle, killed men twice her size and yet she feels she has never been more terrified than in this moment, her grip on Liza' s arm shifting to support, leaning against her as she gapes.

"But... Abby told us it would be at least three more weeks."

"The baby is early, Heda." Liza insists and Lexa can see the ashen white of her skin in the torch light, the panic in her eyes.

She runs, faster than she has ever run before, as if she is being chased by a horde of Reapers, mindless of the heavy armour ratting against her body, the sword swinging at her side and weighing her down. Her small house is surrounded by people, a mixture of _Skaikru_ and her own people and she recognises Indra, pacing nervously by the door, Octavia sitting on the ground and furiously sharpening her dagger, agitated. Lincoln stands too, but he is stoic and unmoving beside Octavia, the only sign of his anxiety comes from the tick in his jaw.

People spread for her, pulling away to allow her in with murmured greetings of _Heda,_ but the word has never meant less to Lexa than it does in this moment.

The house is bright with light, the strange electric lights used by the cloudlings and Lexa spots a wire running out of her door to who knows where, powering the whirring machines that beep and crackle and surround the cot she shares with Clarke. There are people everywhere, crowded around the cot so that she can't see and for a moment she hesitates in the doorway, terror freezing her in place as her eyes struggle to see everything, all at once.

Bellamy's is the first face she recognises, the only one that isn't covered in strange white cloth. He wears his normal clothing as well, none of the odd blue gowns donned by the rest of the group around her bed. The sight of him makes her stumble forward, bumping into the tea tray and sending the clay pots crashing to the ground. The people around the cot jolt and look up at her, alarmed and she recognises some of her own people in this odd, sky people clothing.

"What is going on?" She means to sound harsh, authoritative, but her voice comes out shrill and reedy, like a child.

"Lexa," Bellamy ushers her forward and she all but pushes her way through, balking at the scene she finds.

Clarke is pale as the winter snow that still decorates the ground, eyes shut and lips chapped and her clothing has been pushed away to reveal the swell of her stomach. Things are attached to her, strange wires and machines that beep surround them and Lexa feels suddenly cowed by _skaikru_ technology, penned in by it. Clarke's stomach, however, catching her attention most, because Abby is carving a cut deeply into her skin, slicing through Clarke as if it means nothing.

Lexa jerks forward to stop her, but Bellamy is fast and strong and catches her before she can jostle the cot, holding her as she fights angrily.

"What are you doing?" She can't hear her own voice, her heart is pounding too hard in her ears, but Bellamy is close and clear when he speaks, though his words are urgent.

"They're performing a caesarean, there's been some trouble and she has to cut the baby out of Clarke."

" _Cut the baby_ ," Lexa echoes, horrified and Bellamy's arms tighten around her.

"It's _normal_ Lexa! They've done it a million times! They can do it, you just have to let them work."

His arms slowly slacken around her and there is nothing Lexa can do but watch, terror coursing through her veins, as Abby inserts her knife deeply into Clarke. They crowd around her, making it difficult to see and Lexa feels as if she stands there for hours, staring at strange blue backs and listening to hushed words, until Abby is pulling a body, tiny and bloody and _strange_ , from Clarke's body. There is a moment of total silence, until the high, wailing cry is heard through the house and Lexa feels her heart trip over itself, soaring at the sound. The tiny creature is wrapped in blankets, passed away from the scene to be cleaned and Lexa's eyes are fixed to the midwives in the corner, watching for glimpses of miniscule fingers and toes, when the sound of beeping, angry and high and sudden, comes from one of the machines.

"She's losing too much blood!" Abby's voice, frantic, cuts through Lexa's mind and for a second she is caught, staring with eyes flooded with dread at the doctor.

She knows the risk of childbirth well, had seen it a million times as a child in her village.

There is red staining the furs beneath Clarke, painting her skin with its deathly hue and Abby barks out instructions, harsh and tense as they grab for needles and cloths and all manner of strange instruments.

Beside her, she hears Bellamy suck in a raspy breath, as if trying not to cry and she breaks, leaning forward across the cot to press lips against soft skin, whispering into Clarke's ear.

" _Ste_ , princess, _ste_. We do this together, remember?" Her voice cracks and she feels a tear escape, trailing a path down the paint and mud and blood that cake her cheeks. "We do this _together_."

\----

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on onemilliongoldstars on tumblr, it'll be fun I promise


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven is right, she realises slowly. Miya is a part of Clarke, her spirit will have passed from mother to child, shown clearly in the glow of Miya's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to jenna over at dontlovemelikexo on tumblr for the beta and constant excited texts about fics

She sleeps.

Exhaustion catches up with her after almost twenty-four hours, pulling her into its dark depths, but her slumber is far from peaceful and she startles awake several hours later to find she is just where she remembers, head resting against the furs of her cot, beside Clarke's still body. She moves slowly, stretching backwards to relieve the tension pooling in her back and her arms, settling against the back of the chair. She sits in for a moment before standing on slow, shaking legs. Her eyes are gritty, sore with the tears that have glued together her eyelashes and made her cheeks as raw as newly cut skin and she peers through them, looking down at where Clarke lies, still and silent. Her breaths are steady, an even rise and fall of chest, the only indication of Abby's hard work.

The woman has gone to find her own bed. There is nothing more she can do now, after a night of barking commands to her inferiors, crouched over Clarke's body. Abby's words circle her head like scavenging birds after the kill of a beast.

"She lost a lot of blood. She has Hypovolemic Shock. She'll wake up soon."

But Lexa has waited and Clarke has not moved. Hours after the birth, after the red and the frantic words and the smell of death that still lingers heavily in the air. It seems as if it is permeating her skin, soaking into her so that she will smell it forever, wherever she goes.

The door cracks open and she looks up, eyes heavy with weariness, and can only nod in greeting to Lincoln.

" _Heda,"_ he greets her respectfully, bowing his head and she waits, throat dry as he lingers in the doorway. "How is she?" He asks, finally and she runs a tongue over dry lips, eyes flickering to Clarke's inert body.

"Much the same." She sounds soft, weak, but she can't bring herself to care.

Lincoln inclines his head again, solemn and then says, a touch of uncertainty to his words. "We wanted to bring you someone."

Her eyes can only crease, watching, puzzled as Lincoln steps aside to reveal Octavia behind him and the bundle of blankets in her arms. She looks natural, Lexa puzzles, holding a child who is not her own, cradling it as any mother would and her eyes are softer than Lexa has ever seen them before, gentling in a way that is almost maternal.

"Miya." She breathes the word like a prayer and watches Octavia approach. She holds the baby close, as if it is easy and extends her arms in offering.

Lexa cannot say no.

Slowly, with all the care in the world, the baby is deposited in her arms and Octavia takes a moment to silently guide her, adjusting her arms and hands to cradle the tiny thing appropriately, before stepping back.

Lexa stares down in fascination at the child in her arms. She has skin that is pale, like Clarke and hair that is most definitely Bellamy's, dark wisps on the top of her head and Lexa feels a bite of bitterness that she cannot see herself in this child, the one who may have cost her the woman she loves. Big eyes blink open to look at her and her breath catches in her throat because Clarke is staring up at her. Miya's eyes are as wide as the sky and as blue as the ocean and they sparkle like they hold the galaxies within them. Clarke is here and yet it is not Clarke, because _her_ Clarke may never look at her with those big blue eyes again and instead she is left with a tiny replacement, a reminder.

"Take her," her voice cracks and she holds Miya out, jolting her so that the baby starts to cry, weak, pitiful sounds that twist at Lexa's gut. Octavia hurries to relieve her, hushing the baby quietly and looks as if she may say something, but Lincoln's hand on her back guides her away, pushing her through the door and letting it swing shut so that Lexa can once again lay her head against furs that smell of death and soak them in her tears.

\----

Abby returns hours later, the circles under her eyes dark and prominent and Lexa wonders whether she too has slept fitfully, but does not raise her head to ask. She sits, her elbow resting against the furs, her forehead cradled in her hands, stoic and still like the statues of the Old World, carved from marble and yet crumbling. Abby moves silently around Clarke, taking readings and noting down numbers, but it is only when she pauses at the bottom of the bed that Lexa raises her head slowly to look at the woman.

She looks haggard, run down with lack of sleep and fear and Lexa is certain that she looks no better, still dressed in her war attire. Her sword has been discarded, thrown across the house as if it means nothing, but her dagger is still clasped firmly to her side and her hair is caught in intricate, practical braids, now loosened by her agitated tugging.

"How is she?" Lexa's voice is quiet, croaks over the words and Abby runs her hand over her eyes, distracted.

"Pretty much the same. She'll wake up, it's just a matter of when. The transfusion went alright and her blood pressure is returning to normal, but her body has been through a trauma; these things take time to recover from."

Frustration rushes through her and she smacks a hand down on the cot, beside Clarke, before she can stop herself, standing abruptly. "She cannot die."

"She won't _die_ ," Abby spits, riled, but beneath her anger there is a shimmer of fear, desperation and it curdles in Lexa's stomach like sour milk. "Get a hold of yourself."

"You will not talk to your _Heda_ in such a way." Her words are no more than a growl, tossed in anger across the room, but Abby stands strong and tall, as obstinate as her daughter.

"Right now you are not my Heda." She returns, voice as harsh as ice. "You're _scared_."

"I am not afraid."

"Of course you are," Abby scoffs, letting her hand fall to touch Clarke's leg, brushing over the still limb for just a moment and when she speaks again she is quiet. "We all are."

Lexa can find no words to refute her, nothing to say to fill the void that spreads out between them and for a moment she misses Clarke so desperately that it is like a pain, strangling up her chest and into her heart. She turns before the _skaikru_ member can see the agony in her eyes and paces restlessly across the room, busying herself with a stack of books ordering and reordering them as Abby watches.

"Have you seen the baby?" Abby's voice is soft but it feels like a slap and Lexa's eyes shut for a second, her breath catching in her throat.

She shakes her head.

"That child needs a mother." Abby insists and Lexa turns, her voice gruff.

"She has one," she indicates to Clarke, stepping closer to brush a tendril of golden hair from her cheek. The skin is warmer than it was, but there is no response, no movement from the girl on the cot and Lexa feels the misery clutch at her heart again, curling around it like the thorn ridden vines of the forest.

"She needs you."

"She is _fine_." Lexa snaps and her hand goes to clutch at her dagger, knuckles almost white as anger crashes through her.

"You can't just abandon a _baby_ , Lexa!" Abby takes a step forward and Lexa's dagger is out in seconds, drawn with a shaking hand, but when she speaks it is with the steady, harsh tone of a Heda.

"Stop talking Abby. Now."

The woman edges a step closer, her features set with stubbornness, "I thought you _loved_ this baby."

"I do," she chokes over the words and her eyes flicker to Clarke's unchanging form, ashen and cold on the bed. "But she was my everything."

\----

Escaping the house is surprisingly easy. She can only surmise that Indra is responsible, spreading warnings of all that has occurred through both camps so that when Lexa takes long, harried strides through her village she is greeted only by bowed heads and soft, reverent murmurs of her title as people turn away, respectful.

She is grateful for the peace, grateful to escape the tiny stone house. The walls had gathered around her, high and solid and pressing down until it was just her and Clarke and the smell of death. By contrast, the cool winter air is crisp against her cheeks, painfully biting and sharp as she drags in long breaths. Her fingers tingle against the cold and her feet become soaked as she trudges through the new snow fall, taking steady steps up towards the forest.

Her feet guide her between the trees, slipping into the dim light until she is hidden from the world. The forest seems to act as a blanket, making the sounds of the village soft and muted and she revels in it, a quiet peace settling across her shoulders as she continues to walk. After a time she pauses and draws the bow that still sits across her body, removing an arrow from her quiver to notch it against the string. Strong arms pull back, as easy as breathing, and she tries to focus, staying stiff and still as her eyes seek out the bark of a tree, an animal, anything.

It takes her several minutes to realise the world is blurry because there are tears soaking her eyes, trailing slowly down her cheeks. Her chest is heavy, sucking in breath as if she has been suffocating in that small, crowded room and only out here can she truly taste the trees and the water, the life that fills the world around her. Her hands shake, trembling madly but she can't bring herself to let loose her arrow or replace her bow. She feels trapped, caught between one moment and another and she wonders if she could be frozen like this forever, until she turns to stone, at one with the forest.

Her fingers loosen and she lets her arrow fly free, watching as it soars uselessly through the air to strike against a rock somewhere. Irritation courses through her and she drags another arrow from her quiver, releasing one and then another and then another, each one failing to meet a target as the sting of her eyes increases.

" _Heda_ ," the voice startles her and she loses another arrow into the middle of the forest.

Angry hands wipe at her cheeks and she turns, swallowing heavily when she sees Indra stood only a few paces away, watching her carefully.

"Indra." Her voice shakes, but Indra is merciful enough to ignore it.

"What brings you out here, _Heda_?"

She considers for a moment, eyes flickering away so she can't see the worry in her general's eyes as she says, slowly. "The house was... suffocating."

"I see." Indra is silent for a moment, deliberating, before she continues. "There is no change in Clarke?"

"None," she draws back another arrow, letting it fly angrily into the ether and there is a slight crack as it hits a rock. Lexa lets out a soft, frustrated sigh. "Is there something you need?"

"No," Indra squares her shoulders a little, wise, careful eyes watching her. "I thought you may appreciate company. This must be difficult."

"Childbirth is part of life," her words are short and curt. "I cannot allow it to affect me."

"Have you seen the child?" Indra is gently insistent, probing, quietly treading the line of propriety.

"No." She lies easily, steadying to notch another arrow if only to give her hands something to do. "If Clarke perishes, the child has no connection to me. Biologically she is Bellamy Blake's and I have no claim over her; she will be sent to live with the _Skaikru_."

Indra's jaw tightens and she shifts, hands clasped tightly behind her back. "She is the _jus oct Heda_."

"She is _not_." Lexa's voice rips through an octave, suddenly loud, startling birds from their roosts. "She is Bellamy's child."

"Not to the gods." Indra intones, easily, "they will see her as yours. To pass on the child of the _Heda_ to another clan would be seen as a grave insult."

" _Shof op Indra_." She spins on her heel, turning to fix Indra with burning eyes. "You are crossing every line that has been drawn throughout history. I am your _Heda_ , you will not question me."

Indra inclines her head respectfully, just once, but does not move, instead watching as Lexa takes a steadying breath and draws her final shaft.

"I have faith in you, _Heda_. Even without Clarke at your side."

The arrow strikes a tree, flying steady and true.

\----

Someone has opened the windows, relieving the stench of death and Lexa is eternally grateful. She stands by the head of the cot, brushing a hand over Clarke's forehead again, ever so soft and slow as she watches the steady rise and fall of the woman's chest.

It is the first time since she was young that she has felt so completely powerless. Vulnerability does not suit her, painting her in its melancholic hues and she feels a flame of indignation and fury flare within her. She feels trapped within her own skin, fingers twitching to reach out and do something, _anything_ that could help, but her hands are tied and Clarke's fate is left only to the gods now. She thinks of her time in prayer, thinks of nights knelt at the altar of the spirits that have come before her, whispering for guidance. It is a tradition she has never truly embraced; she has always felt the presence of her past lives inside of her, like caring shepherds guiding a stray lamb and with this has come an innate uselessness to the process of formal prayer.

Only twice before has she fallen to her knees before the spirits and begged for help. The first was a night lost to the seasons, blurry now in her memory, when she knelt before the trees of her ancestors, a solitary candle lit beside her and prayed for Costia's life, for her peace and safety. Her prayers had not been answered. The second time had been the eve of the battle with the Mountain, this time in her own tent, head touching the ground as she recited the rights and prayers of her people, adding only one name to the end of her usual litany.

" _Sis Klok kom Skaikru_."

Now though, she slides off her battle guard for the first time in days, letting it fall to the floor in a pile before pacing across the room slowly to drag out the beaded necklace, with the symbol of her people engraved neatly into the pendant, from the basket of trinkets on the table. She places it against the floor, the symbol facing upwards and works quickly to gather candles, setting them around the pendant until it appears to glow, catching the flickering light and sending it dancing across the room.

Her war coat is shrugged off, placed on the cushioned bench and she is left in only her underclothes. It is an offence to approach the spirits ready for war. One should give themselves over to the power of the gods without question and Lexa tries as hard as she can, kneeling slowly onto the harsh stone floor. Jagged pieces of stone dig into her knees but she engulfs the pain, letting it become a part of her as she shifts forward, resting her forehead against the floor, her arms forming a perfect triangle on the floor before her, palms open as an offering to the spirits.

It is a position she had learnt as a _gouffa_ , one she has known for years and yet never before has she felt such dread and fear, forcing her to worship. Softly, lips move to greet her gods. She speaks the oldest version of their language, complicated and intricate, the words slurring into one another as she recites words that she remembers like the touch of a lover, burned into her skin. She is frantic, desperate, her words tumbling over one another to grasp for some sign of understanding, some feeling of the peace that worship had always been promised to bring.

She feels tears falling, can hear them hitting the stone and marvels quietly that she has any more tears to give, that her sadness has not run dry, like a river in summer.

"Lexa."

The intrusion startles her, ripping her up from her prayer to turn and stare at the newcomer, harsh words rising on her lips for whoever dares to disturb her.

Her voice fails her, however, when she sees the bundle that Raven carries. The girl raises an eyebrow at her, peering at her set up with curiosity as she steps into the room and pushes the door shut with her foot.

"Were you praying?" She eyes the candles, tilting her head and Lexa pulls herself to her feet, feeling abruptly defensive of her traditions.

"Yes," her eyes dart to the baby, licking her lips nervously and Raven seems to follow her gaze, hitching the bundle further into her arms.

"I was thinking you could take her, she's been with me for hours but I have to see to an emergency at the radio station."

"Give her to someone else," Lexa turns away, dismissive as she bends to collect her candles, placing them on the table and scooping up the beaded chain to hang it around her neck.

"Why should I?" Raven shoots her an angry glance, though her voice is still hushed for the baby's sake. "This is _your_ child."

Lexa's silence is explanation enough and Raven's features twist with irritation and disgust.

"I knew it."

Curious eyes dart up to look at her, lips pursing in quiet enquiry and Raven elaborates, her voice tight with anger.

"I knew you didn't want it; I knew you were lying." Her arms hold Miya closer to her body, as if protecting her. "I told you Lexa, I _told you_ that you should be straight with Clarke. Because now, if she dies, this baby is going to be left without a mother because you're a fucking _coward!"_

"What business is this of yours?" Her words are a hiss, escaping her on a breath, but her anger is fading, waning in the wake of Raven's fury and turning to shame.

"Clarke is my _friend_! And I know what it's like to grow up with a mother who doesn't give a shit about you and let me tell you, it isn't all sunshine and daisies." She curls her lip at Lexa and strides forward. "You're frightened that you're going to lose her, but look, _look_ Lexa." Miya is thrust towards her and its instinct that extends her arms to catch her, cradling the small, warm body close to hers. Tiny eyes blink open and a hand reaches out through the blankets to grasp, fingers no thicker than pine needles stretching for something to hold. "That is Clarke." Raven's voice has softened a little, "Clarke lives in her, always will. Now woman up and take responsibility."

She turns, stomping from the door before Lexa can speak and she feels stranded, staring down at the baby in her arms as she shifts within her blankets, wriggling a little to try to get closer to her. Her hand reaches out to find nothing and Lexa watches, fascinated, as the tiny face crumples, mouth opening to release a desperate cry, plaintive and wailing.

She hushes her softly, bouncing gently in an effort to soothe her.

"Peace, _goufa_ , peace."

The baby twists, still crying out and Lexa sits slowly into the chair beside the cot, reaching up to undo the necklace from around her neck and pass it down to Miya, letting the child take it into her mouth and suck gently, quieting but for a few whimpers and gurgles as Lexa cradles her, unable to tear her gaze away from the eyes that only hours ago had repulsed her. Raven is right, she realises slowly. Miya is a part of Clarke, her spirit will have passed from mother to child, shown clearly in the glow of Miya's eyes.

"She is beautiful, Clarke." She murmurs, eyes fixed to the baby in her arms, enamoured with her.

"I know."

The soft voice startles her so much that she almost fumbles her grip on Miya, tucking her close to her body as she stands and stares down at the cot. Two tired eyes, as blue as the summer sky, smile up at her and Clarke's lips twitch up, just slightly.

"Can I see her?"

" _Clarke_ , oh god," the baby is passed down to weakened arms, resting gently against Clarke's chest and Lexa moves beside her, placing kisses along her hairline, murmuring soft words of love as Clarke gazes down at Miya.

"Hello, beautiful." She traces a finger down a round, pale cheek, touching the soft skin as if it is the most valuable silk. "She's amazing."

"She's a miracle," Lexa admits, shifting so she can sit behind Clarke and help her lean up a little in bed, taking the full weight of her exhausted body easily. "So are you."

"I'm just a mother," Clarke argues, easily, eyes still fixed on the baby, drinking in every detail of the new life in her arms as Lexa curls around her, holding her close and tight, as if she will never let her go again.

"I thought you were dead," Lexa admits, the words murmured softly in her ear and Clarke finally draws her eyes away, twisting to look at her and placing a gentle kiss to her jaw.

"I was scared," she confesses, quietly, "you weren't here and everything hurt." Her eyes wander back to Miya, as if drawn there by an imperceptible force; as strong as the moon over the helpless waves, they are both drawn back to their tiny impossibility over and over again. "What's this?" Her fingers hook around the necklace, pulling it away from Miya's mouth.

"I was praying." Lexa hooks her fingers around Clarke's, weaving in with the necklace.

"Praying?" Clarke's eyes crease, surprised. "Did you get what you needed?"

"Yes," her hand is drawn up so that Lexa can place reverent lips to the back of it. "And more."

\----

The months pass in a blur. Miya is all she sees, all she knows. For such a tiny being, she seems to engulf Lexa's world; holding her in her arms whenever she is close, worrying about her whenever they are separated.

Winter finishes mildly, slipping into spring in an almost seamless transition. Soon it is warm enough for them to return to Lexa's tent upon the hill, their small family one member larger now. A cradle is brought, carried by Lexa's four strongest warriors, heavy wood carved in intricate detail, a gift from Lincoln and Octavia. It is placed beside their cot, close enough that Clarke can reach out to rock it from inside the furs and Lexa can be beside it in mere moments.

They are barely ever apart; Clarke is weak for months after the birth and under Lexa's close watch, is forced to remain seated most of the time, cradling Miya close in her arms. Sometimes Lexa will sit at the war table, surrounded by councillors and generals, discussing tactic and harvests and the movement of scouts and her eyes will be caught and for a moment her breath is stolen from her. The sight of Clarke, holding their child close to her breast, staring at Miya like she is the most precious thing on the planet, is intoxicating and many times Indra is forced to grunt and nudge her attention back to the table before her.

Clarke takes to motherhood like a bird takes to flight. It is natural and instinctual, she seems to anticipate what Miya will need before the child can even voice it and Lexa is left in awe of her talents. Her own contributions to parenting are shakier, uncertain. She holds Miya whenever she can, keeping her close as her mother reads aloud to the both of them. Occasionally Lexa will whisper the Trigedasleng translation of stories into Miya's ear, tickling soft skin with her breath and Miya will make a sound somewhere close to laughter and wriggle in her arms, squirming.

Her only real contribution comes when darkness falls. Miya spends the first eight months of her life reluctant to sleep at normal times and so often they are woken in the night by squawking and whimpering from her crib. Clarke, heavy to sleep and hard to wake, merely grunts at the noise, but Lexa is ever alert and so she slides from the bed almost immediately and bends to collect the unhappy child into her arms, swaddling her gently as she goes.

"Hush now, _goufa_." She murmurs, bouncing softly up and down in an attempt to soothe her. She will walk laps around their tent, even wander down to the village if she feels she must, to soothe the baby back to sleep again and all the while she will croon: soft comforts, pet names, snippets of songs she barely remembers from her own childhood until eventually the weight in her arm turns heavy, still and quiet.

Bellamy has to be allowed to see her, of course, and Lexa gets a small, secret satisfaction from the way she shifts in his arms, often turning to reach out for one mother or another. He is gentle with her, careful as if she may break in his hands, but Lexa can't fault his love for her and she knows that if anything were to happen to Clarke or herself, Bellamy would raise Miya with stories of her two mothers.

Sometimes, when the days are quiet and long, the four of them sit in Lexa's tent and Bellamy bounces the baby in his lap, telling her long, detailed stories of Clarke and Lexa and the world they live in. Sometimes he will speak just on Clarke, of their time on the Ark and Lexa listens with interest to the pictures he paints with his words. Once, he relates a story Lexa had told, many years ago, of her ascension to _Heda_ and Lexa can't help but smile, giving him a nod of acknowledgement.

Her life as Commander becomes more difficult, however. There are those in her council that see fit to question her, that wonder aloud whether her devotion is now purely to her people. These rumours are quashed one morning, when her generals arrive to see her seated upon her throne, Miya wrapped in a sling close to her body. She is in some of her regalia, her war paint perfectly in place, though her guards lie untouched in her personal quarters. She can see their dissent the moment they enter, shooting shifty glances to her as they file in to stand respectfully. She ignores their uncertainty and remains seated until the final member enters.

In one smooth action, she gets to her feet, hands automatically readjusting Miya to be sure she is comfortable.

" _Mounin_ , friends. Thank you for coming."

A mumbled _Heda_ passes through the room and she can see the glances that are being cast at the babe wrapped tightly to her, but she ignores them, sitting back into place as she speaks. "Perin, of the _Wadaronkru_ , what news have you of disturbances to the east?"

"The northern clans have been not approached in recent weeks, _Heda_." Perin speaks softly, but with a sort of deep seated authority that Lexa knows only comes with time and experience. She smiles slightly, nodding for her friend to continue. Perin is a good leader and the _Trigedakru_ have always been on good terms with the people of the river. "They seem to be sticking to the Cave clans of the north."

" _Kirth kom Graunhoumkru **,**_ you concur?" Lexa watches as Kirth eyes her, his gaze unable to stop flickering to the sling around her chest and she presses her lips together impatiently.

"I do, _Heda_."

"We have obviously offered our support, as the closest member of the alliance." Perin puts in, adding. " _Zog raun won, zog raun oso."_

_Attack one, you attack all._

A smile tugs at Lexa's lips at the sound of her own words from so long ago parroted back to her. "I appreciate your loyalty to the alliance, Commander. Commander Kirth, you must be sure to inform the council on any further developments in your lands. The northern clans will not be allowed to become a threat."

"Of course," Kirth seems to have gotten control of himself, one way or another, but his second is unable to pay her the same courtesy and Lexa eyes him with distaste as he ogles.

"Kirth," she speaks forcefully, but not loudly, still mindful of the sleeping baby at her breast. "Your second seems to have some sort of issue, bring him forward."

The terrified man is ushered in front of her, Kirth standing a step behind him as he cowers at the sight of her power, cowed despite the infant tucked close to her body.

"You have some sort of question or quarrel." She prompts, impatiently, tapping the blade of her dagger out in a steady rhythm against the arm of her throne.

"No _Heda_ ," he hurries to speak, eyes darting back to Kirth at her sceptical gaze and Kirth grits his teeth, stepping forward beside his second to address her.

"Some members of the council are curious about the... babe." He indicates awkwardly to the sling and she wants to pull the material closer, shelter Miya from the curious eyes, but instead she simply stands again.

"As a mother and your _Heda_ , I see no issue as to why I should have my child close to me."

"It is not suitable, _Heda_ ," Kirth argues, heavy brows set together in a frown.

"My child draws comfort from my presence, just as many of my people do," she draws herself tall, fixing them all with tight lips and disapproving eyes. "The only people interrupting this meeting are the two of _you_. I have heard the rumours and the rumblings," she casts her eyes over the rest of the council, taking note of who shies away from the accusation and who meets her gaze. "But be warned, I am the rightful leader of both this clan and this alliance and I can easily fight any man who says otherwise, regardless of the babe on my chest. Is that clear?"

A general murmur of agreement runs through the room and Lexa sits again slowly, dismissing Kirth and his second with a wave of her hand.

Later, when she is pouring over the newest charts of the north eastern regions, Clarke calls to her from their quarters, where she is engaged in bathing a giggling Miya.

"Yes?" She stands, glad to be free of her work, if only for a few minutes, but freezes the second she sees the raised eyebrow Clarke has fixed her with. "Is something wrong?"

"Did you take Miya to the council with you today?"

"Yes," she answers slowly, following the strange path Clarke is leading her down blindly.

"I can tell," practiced hands reach out to move the squirming infant, betraying her forehead and neck, where there are long smudges of black kohl.

\----

Miya seems to grow up in the blink of an eye.

The first autumn of her life is just coming to a close when Lincoln and Octavia announce that they too are expecting. Clarke clutches her friend close and they talk in high, excited voices as Lexa offers a hand for Lincoln to clasp, fingers curling around elbows as is the grounder tradition.

"Congratulations, friend. _Mebi graun uf ste kom emo._ "

They get to watch Octavia grow in tandem with Miya over the next few months. She is, unsurprisingly, unwilling to accept her new limitations and there is more than one occasion in which Lexa is amused by the sight of Lincoln physically hauling Octavia away from training, throwing her over his shoulder to walk heavily away, seemingly uninterested in the way she batters her fists against his back. Similarly, Miya soon begins to crawl. She is fast for one so small and Lexa finds herself constantly on her feet, following the child across the tent to scoop into her arms before she can hurt herself.

A month after Miya becomes mobile- a month filled with far too many close calls- Lexa agrees to keep her weapons in a large, locked chest and they sand off the edges of all tables and chairs.

Octavia's birth is simple and easy, about as far from Clarke's experience as possible and the woman is back on her feet hours later, bouncing their baby boy in her arms while ordering her seconds in training. They call him Orion and when Lexa queries the name later that evening Clarke tucks a sleeping Miya into her sling and leads Lexa outside, a hand curling around the small of her back as her chin touches Lexa's shoulder and she points out the man in the sky, the warrior with his belt and sword.

"You _skaikru_ ," Lexa shakes her head in amazement, drawing Clarke into her side. "You are incredible, you make pictures from the stars."

"It's an ancient art," Clarke shrugs, but two pink spots appear high on her cheeks and Lexa encourages her to teach her more, watching with fascination as Clarke points out the lightning bolt, Cassiopeia and the northern star, the brightest of the sky, shining high above the earth. They are close, their breath mingling in the cold night air and it reminds Lexa of years long ago, after the fall of the Mountain, when she would court Clarke in an effort to win her affections.

"Do you know what's amazing?" Clarke murmurs, continuing at Lexa's inquisitive look. "In the centuries since people thought this up, the world has changed _so much._ It's basically ended and started again and yet the stars are still _exactly_ _the same_."

"It's comforting," Lexa confides, softly. "Knowing that there are things bigger than you, that your actions will not cause an end of days. It leaves you free to do as you want... love as you want." Clarke is staring up at her and there is a slight smile on her lips, the kind that makes Lexa want to cradle her cheeks and taste her lips and she is just leaning in when Miya turns, stretching out of the sling that she has almost outgrown and mumbling soft, unintelligible words.

\----

The first word that Miya says is ' _mommy'_ and Lexa cries.

The second word she says in ' _nomon_ ' and Clarke's tears join hers.

\----

When Miya is four, they wake up one morning to giggles and sunlight. Turning in the furs, Lexa frowns, peering with bleary eyes through the tent to where Miya is sat, playing with a carved wooden horse on one of the woven mats. Carefully she slips out of the bed from beside Clarke, leaving the blonde to stretch and grumble herself into wakefulness, as she always does.

"Miya, _kom_." She calls softly and the little girl turns, beaming at the sight of her _nomon_ , even as Lexa freezes in her path. Miya's face is smeared with dark paint, twisting this way and that around her eyes and cheeks.

She sits slowly into her throne as Miya scrambles to join her, holding up her hands to be picked up and Lexa holds her in her lap, taking her hands to inspect them carefully, unsurprised to see the kohl that coats her fingertips.

" _Miya_ ," she scolds, brows twisting and the little girl blinks up at her, surprised. "What have you done?"

"Like _nomon_." She explains, as if it is obvious, the lisp in her voice still pronounced. "We match." She reaches up with a tiny hand to touch Lexa's cheek and Lexa's fingers move up to follow hers, frowning when she realises that her skin feels stiff and unfamiliar.

Clarke's burst of laughter comes from the bed and Lexa twists to see Clarke's face also covered in kohl. She stands and passes a mirror over, still giggling as she presses a kiss to Miya's head and Lexa stares at her reflection, aghast at the odd lines and whirling patterns that cover her face.

"Miya! This is unacceptable!"

Miya's eyes goes wide and she looks between her _nomon_ and her mother. "But I want to be a _gona_ , _nomon_."

"Well you are not a warrior yet _strik non_." Lexa frowns, sombre. "War paint is very important for a warrior, Miya, it signifies talent, standing, skill and many other things to do with our heritage." The little girl squirms, turning to peer up at her mother from beneath messy, dark curls and Clarke takes pity on her, swooping down to pick her from Lexa's arms.

"Maybe save the history lesson for after breakfast?"

\----

Lexa braids Miya's hair for the first time when she is six. It has grown long and wild and curly and Miya is in the habit is touching her _nomon's_ braids and asking about them, so one summer's afternoon Lexa sits her on a rock and gently twists her hair back into the simplest of braids. As her fingers work, she speaks, explaining the traditions of their braids, their significance in battle, their history and practicality and Miya listens, enraptured by her words.

"What do your braids mean, _nomon_?" She asks, when Lexa is finished.

Lexa hesitates, hands hovering over her daughter's hair. Miya knows that her _nomon_ is important, how could she not with the frequent council meetings and the elaborate uniform Lexa dons? But it is still a first and Lexa decides on total honesty.

"I was chosen, Miya, to be the _Heda_ of the Trigedakru. I lead them in times of peace and times of war."

"The Trigedakru," Miya echoes, stumbling a little over the word. "Your people?"

"Yes," Lexa smoothes a hand down her hair, gentle and follows her daughter's gaze out to the mishmash of buildings.

"And the _skaikru_?"

"No." Lexa shakes her head, "that works slightly differently."

"Are they my people?" Miya asks, after a long moment of silence and Lexa presses her lips together, searching for the right answer.

"They are all your people Miya. _Skaikru_ and Trigedakru, you must not differentiate. We are all one."

She isn't sure Miya understands, but she nods solemnly anyway.

That night, Clarke curls into her and murmurs softly against her skin. "Will you braid my hair?"

"Of course," Lexa is startled by the question but Clarke's eyes shine with happiness and she presses forward, crashing their lips together and Lexa cannot find it within herself to argue.

\----

Miya sees her kill a man when she is seven.

It is unavoidable. Despite her numerous shows of strength, her capability as _Heda_ is still questioned and she is left with little choice but a fight to the death. The man in question is a brute, but she gets little pleasure from her victory, delivering her final, damning blows that send him flying to the floor and clambering so that she is knelt upon him and her knife is at his throat.

" _Yu gonplei ste odon."_ The words are strong, booming through the watching crowd and only her eyes flicker up when she suddenly catches sight of the small figure stood directly in front of her.

Miya's eyes are wide and terrified.

For a moment, Lexa wavers.

She's not sure what scares her more.

He moves beneath her and she slits his throat in one long, smooth slash.

\----

The next day, Lexa is left in charge of Miya. There is a strange tension between them, although Lexa is sure that the child is barely able to understand what it is and she watches for a few minutes, after Clarke has left them, as Miya reads quietly in the corner.

Her thoughts whirr and she thinks for a moment, before retrieving some supplies and laying them out across the grass mats, dropping furs down for them to sit on. Miya watches, curious despite herself and when Lexa calls her over, she approaches slowly, sitting beside her _nomon_.

"I need your help," Lexa explains, gravely. "My miniatures are long out of date. We must create new lands for my council to study as our threats change." Miya nods and they set about, tearing up the paper into small strips and creating a detailed map of the lands surrounding them.

Lexa watches her daughter closely as she works, tiny fingers intricate and precise and it is clear to Lexa that she has inherited her mother's artistry.

"Miya," she speaks softly as they work, almost afraid to alarm the little girl. "Would you like to talk about what you saw me do yesterday?"

Miya swallows and Lexa feels her stomach swoop when she sees her daughter's hand waver over the paintbrush. "It was scary." She whispers, finally and Lexa nods, once.

"Death is frightening, I'm sorry you had to see it."

"Why did you do it?" Miya's paintbrush is held high in the air, the paint dripping slowly off the end and congealing in the furs below her, but Lexa lets it slide.

"As _Heda_ , I must be able to protect my people." She tells her, finally. "Bronthus, the man you saw yesterday, questioned my leadership and tradition dictated that I fight a battle to death, to prove myself. I did not enjoy it, Miya. No matter the necessity, you must never enjoy killing, no matter how much the world begs it of you."

Miya's nod is quietly sombre and she paints silently for a few moments, clearly mulling over Lexa's words.

"Do you ever wish you weren't _Heda_?" Her small voice is innocent, a curious query, but it sends a shock down Lexa's spine.

"No." Her voice is firm. "I love my people, Miya. I cannot imagine letting anyone else protect them as I must."

"Even when it means doing things you don't want to?"

She smiles sadly and nods. "Love requires sacrifice."

\----

Miya and Orion grow close. They're often seen around the camp, laughing and playing and occasionally Lexa will pause, looking up from where she is inspecting a harvest or settling some dispute to watch the pair run and shriek. Miya's hair is almost always in braids now, as it should be, and they bounce against her shoulders as she runs. She's small, but fast for a child her age and she far outstrips Orion. The boy is a year younger, but already taller than her and his eyes sparkle with all the mirth she would expect from any child of Octavia's.

As she grows, Miya seems to become curious about everything. Sometimes she will accompany Lexa on her trips through the camp, her tiny hand clutching Lexa's and question everything she sees. There is some Bellamy in her, Lexa has to allow for that, but the stubborn streak can easily be attributed to her mother as well, as can the innate kindness she often sees in the little girl. A flush of pleasure runs through her every time she sees some of herself in Miya; Clarke will often point out the serious, pondering look Miya gets whenever she is thinking, the sombre set of her lips and her nimble, quick swordplay. Lexa thinks though that her favourite thing could be the casual, easy slant of Miya's voice when she speaks Trigedakru. The language makes up a crucial part of Lexa's life, of her culture and so her child's voice capturing the words of her heritage makes her heart clench.

Bellamy comes to them when Miya is approaching her seventh winter and tells them that his wife, a young, smiling member of Lexa's clan named Haila, is expecting a child. They offer congratulations and advice and Lexa watches with tender eyes as Bellamy swings Miya up into his arms and tells her that she will have a cousin, soon.

She has made her peace with Bellamy. He was the linchpin that brought Miya into this world and she wouldn't trade the little girl for anything.

\----

Miya's eighth winter is accompanied by storms similar to those of her birth and they retreat back to the little stone house, where they can shut the door on the wind and stoke a fire to ward away the cold. They've made something of a home from the four stone walls, despite the memories that seem to hold the bricks together.

Their first winter in the house, when Miya was but a babe slumbering in her cradle, Clarke had woken to find Lexa knelt near the door, a solitary candle lighting her prayers, muttered words of Old Trigedaslang falling from her mouth. She had knelt beside her, wrapped her in her arms and held her close until Lexa's half formed worship had turned to tears and she had twisted to bury her head against Clarke's stomach and cling to her.

"This house..." she had finally been able to confess, "it holds too many memories."

Clarke had held her face, cupping it between her palms as if it were as delicate as a baby bird and run gentle thumbs over her skin. "We'll make new ones." She'd promised.

She was right, of course. Clarke is always right.

"Miya," she beckons now, drawing the little girl closer to where she sits, in a high backed chair by the fire. She pulls her onto her knee, letting the girl push her face into the fur lining of her open coat, holding her close. She's getting too old for this, but Lexa cannot resist. Miya is precious and she tries to hold her close as often as possible. "Maybe your mother will read us a story, what do you think?" She looks to Clarke, a small smile tilting her lips upwards when she sees the blonde roll her eyes.

"Yes! Yes, _please_ mom." Miya turns her face out, staring up at her mother with wide eyes and Clarke bites back her smile, rolling her eyes as she sinks onto the cushioned bench.

"Another story?"

"You tell them best," Lexa assures her softly and she sees Clarke's smile in the firelight, the pink on her cheeks.

"Flattery," she mutters, but reaches for a book from the table, flicking it open as Miya settles into Lexa's arms, head resting comfortably on her furs and Lexa lets a hand stroke softly down her hair as Clarke reads.

It doesn't take long for Miya to become heavy and warm in her arms. They put her to bed together, Lexa lifting her into her arms to carry her to the small cot in the corner of the room and lie her down, pulling her furs over her body and pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"You spoil her," Clarke murmurs into her skin, when they lie together later that night and Lexa feels her smile stretching across her cheeks even as she shrugs, pulling her close.

"She is a gift."

\----

Lexa wakes with a jerk, sweating and jolting from sleep as if a phantom figure has grabbed her, pulled her back into wakefulness with hard, bony fingers. She gasps, heaving for breath and throws back the covers, standing with a slight wobble to pull on her deerskin trousers, throwing on a tunic and her coat, grabbing her sword to strap around her waist as she strides quickly from the house.

There are noises, she can hear them the second that she steps outside. The sky is brighter than usual and her sleep addled brain struggles for a moment, stringing together half formed thoughts until she turns to see the columns of smoke rising from within the village. Pounding feet sound and she draws her sword, shifting into a defensive crouch until she makes out Bellamy in the firelight, followed by Octavia and Liza.

"Lexa!" He sounds frantic, furious and she hurries forward, meeting him half way even as he continues to speak. "Raiders! They've breached the main gate. We have a far greater force but there are fires, you need to get to safety."

"How many?" She snaps, turning on her heels to pace back towards the house. "From where?"

"They show no obvious colours," Bellamy shakes his head, grinding his teeth angrily. "Around forty. We have a standing force of over one hundred but they caught us by surprise and I had to make sure you were all okay."

"Understood," her eyes flicker away, to where she can see Indra and several others of her guards approaching. Turning, she pushes through the door. Clarke is still sleeping, sound as ever and it would almost be funny if things weren't so urgent, but a small voice from across the room almost breaks her heart.

" _Nomon_?" Miya is out of bed and small legs bring her quickly to Lexa's side, grabbing at her hand and clinging tightly. " _Chit ste ai adden_?"

"Miya," she bends, lifting the girl up into her arms to hold close. "Raiders," she tells her truthfully and is pleased to see that while Miya's cheeks turn ashen, she does not cry out. "We must get you and mother to safety. Clarke!"

The sound of her wife's voice is enough to pull Clarke from her restless slumber and she sits up, peering through the dim light at Lexa, stood near the open door with Miya in her arms. "Lexa," she stands, approaching and taking Miya into her arms when Lexa passes her over, still rubbing at her eyes as she squeezes the girl and then lets her down to shrug on her own coat over her thin tunic. "What going on?"

"Raiders," Lexa explains again, stepping away to grab a small glass beaker filled with old black kohl, pressing her fingers through it to smear it around her eyes as she speaks. "Probably from the north. We must get you both to safety."

"I'm not letting you go alone." Clarke states, firmly and Lexa lets a soft huff, placing the beaker back before she turns and touches the top of Miya's head softly.

"She needs you. I will be fine."

" _You_ need me," Clarke insists, teeth gritting irritably and Lexa allows her eyes to drift shut for just a moment before she leans forward to press her lips to Clarke's cutting off the woman for a second.

"I need you to look after her, I need to know she's safe."

Clarke struggles for a moment, torn and it's only when Miya reaches up for her, drawing blue eyes down to the child at her side, that Clarke bends and pulls her into her arms, turning to look at Lexa over dark braids. "Come back." She instructs seriously, "and next time I get to go and _you_ have to stay with her."

"It's a deal." The smile on her face fades only once Clarke has turned her back.

\----

It's been too long since she was last engaged in combat. The fates had graced them with peaceful, plentiful times and while her people flourished in such conditions, the struggle of Lexa's soldiers shows far too greatly in their battle. They take too many casualties and it takes them most of the night to subdue the raiders, until finally all but three of them are dead, their tainted blood spilling on her ground.

Lexa is irritated and there's a gash over her ribs that is sending shooting pains through her every time she moves, so she demands that the bodies be thrown from the village, into the forest where the wild animals can feast on their flesh. So great is her anger that she doesn't even offer them their final rights.

The three captives are stretched across racks, hidden away inside her war tent and her fury pushes her up the hill, shaking off the offers of assistance. Only Indra, Furgus and several of her other most trusted advisors accompany her, Liza hurrying along a few paces behind her. None of them speak; she is clearly in no mood for conversation. Inside the tent the three men are flanked by guards, most bleeding from wounds and Lexa takes her time looking them over, letting their frantic eyes take in the sight of the famed _Heda_ who united the twelve clans, watching the fear pool in their stomachs. It doesn't take long to find out what she needs to know and she orders their throats are slit in fast Trigedaslang when she walks away.

Clarke finds her in the war tent, in deep discussion with Indra and she lets out a startled gasp when she sees her, the kind that makes Lexa turn in surprise to look at her.

"Stop!" Clarke holds out a hand, as if she can restrain her from several paces away and hurries forward to drop down to her knees at Lexa's side.

It's only then, with Clarke's hands hovering uncertainly beside her, that Lexa realises the blood has soaked through her tunic and is dropping steadily to the ground.

Clarke orders everyone out in loud, angry Trigedaslang and strips off her tunic, cutting it away with Lexa's dagger to inspect the wound at her side. Lexa allows it, her head falling back against her throne as Clarke washes the gash, flinching slightly.

"I'm not sorry," Clarke snaps, furiously, "how long have you left this?"

"An hour," she breathes out the words, cringing away from the cloth again, "no more."

"You could have _bled out,_ " Clarke begins angrily slicing away at bandages.

"But I did not," Lexa rebukes, calmly and continues before Clarke can rile again, "where is Miya?"

"With Octavia," Clarke presses the cloth tightly against her side and reaches for the gauze. Her eyes soften a little as the pain etches across Lexa's face and she says, "she's safe, don't worry."

"I knew you would care for her," she smiles a little, tired eyes meeting flashing blue for a second.

"I managed for nine months, didn't I?" Clarke quips, gently, and Lexa rolls her eyes, a grin twitching her lips upwards.

"Barely."

\----

She has had only a few hours sleep when an urgent voice wakes her and she is jerked from slumber, rubbing her eyes as she crawls from the furs where she had made her bed in the war tent. Liza stands above her, Indra beside her and Lexa is almost tempted to turn and bury her head in her furs, plead for more sleep. However their faces are grave and she stands, allowing Liza to help her dress as Indra fills her in, in short, sharp Trigedaslang.

Their water supply, the one Raven constructed so many years ago, has been tampered with. Poison has corrupted much of their clan and while the healers are working as best they can the pandemic is far spread. There is a momentary pause in her narrative and Lexa's eyes narrow as she sees Indra gaze dart to Liza and then back again.

"Speak." She demands sharply and Indra switches over to English to say, her voice tense and worried.

" _Heda_ , Miya has been affected."

The world goes white and for a moment she fears she won't be able to walk, much less run, but she is past Indra and Liza before she knows what's happening and her feet carry her through the camp faster than she thinks they ever have before. People turn to stare but she doesn't spare them a second glance and by the time she skids into the Ark medical bay she is panting, heaving in breaths. Through the crowd she can see a telltale head of blonde hair and she wades through the sea of concerned family members until she arrives at Clarke's side and is able to rest a hand on her shoulder.

When she turns to look, blue eyes are red rimmed.

On the bed before her, their daughter heaves and squirms, clutching at her stomach and letting out small, broken cries.

Lexa sits with her all day and night, pressing damp, cooling rags to her feverish forehead, holding her delicate hand even when she clutches so tightly that it begins to hurt. When darkness falls people try to encourage her to move, but she gives them only a scowl that says that she is their _Heda_ and will do as she pleases and they leave quickly. Clarke is on duty, rushing from patient to patient trying to work out their symptoms, but she circles around to Miya every ten minutes, standing at the end of her bed to check her charts and run anxious hands over her body, checking for swelling.

She reminds Lexa so much of Abby in these moments that it is almost startling, twitching hands anxious to keep busy while she is worried, always the doctor. Lexa can feel the same restlessness burrowing deep into her veins, but she remains where she is, sat in the hard metal chair and holding her daughter's hand as if she can keep her from passing into the next life just by holding her down. Miya turns, twisting and her eyes open a crack for the first time in hours, peering through the darkness fearfully for a moment until she sees Lexa and she tries to reach for her.

Lexa obliges, shifting to sit at the edge of the bed and open her arms to her daughter, cradling her as if she is a babe again. Miya's breaths are short and sharp, catching on her tears as she trembles in Lexa's arms and she hears her murmur.

" _Nomon ai..._ " she hesitates. There is no word in Trigedaslang. "Scared."

Lexa feels her heart clench, pressing a hand against crushed, messy braids and holding her close as she hums the song that she had sung so many years ago, in a house that smelt of fear and blood and death. Miya's fear drags her away into sleep again soon, but Lexa hears the muffled sob of a nearby onlooker and her eyes find Clarke's, blue and brimming with tears that she tries desperately to stifle.

She feels her pain harden to anger, a chunk of ice settling deep in the pit of her stomach.

\----

Her people recover, Miya included, but it takes weeks of valuable time and resources and the blow strikes them hard. Her people are not used to such underhand tactics, such coercive battle, and Lexa feels momentarily stranded, standing at her war table for the first time in days, listening to her generals argue over what is to be done. She is trained to strategise, but such risks have never been a threat to previous commanders and now she struggles to find a solution that will satisfy everyone, including her own fury, buried deep in a secretive part of her heart.

Miya is rested, but remains at the medical ward. Clarke had reassured her that most of the poison is now out of her body, but she is young and weak and her battle rages on.

"We must first sort of the issue of the water supply," one of her generals, insists and there is a general murmur of agreement, even as Quint slams a fist angrily on the table.

"No! War is imperative, _Heda_ , if we do not act they will think us weak and they will be _right_."

"We are not _weak_." Indra growls from beside her and Quint continues, ignoring her words.

"This is the greatest disrespect, contaminating our lands, the lands of our _great Heda_ , even poisoning your own child."

Lexa feels her jaw clench at the words and the fury in her heart begins to leek, her anger slipping into her system, like the fiery rush of the _skaikru's_ whiskey down her throat. "You are right, Quint, this display threatens us, threatens our authority."

"Surely our priority should be to our people, they will not last long without clean water and many of our systems now rely on the ready supply." Furgus insists and Lexa has to bow her head in acknowledgement.

"Raven reports that she already has a system set up. She is able to filter the water from the lake, maintaining the old system but guaranteeing the safety of our people." Indra offers, "the filter is in construction as we speak."

"Good," her hand falls, palm down, on the map before her and her eyes rove to the northern wastelands, to the few recorded gatherings her scouts have reported. "Then we go to battle."

" _Heda_!" The outcry from around the table is resounding, loud and uncertain and she allows it for a moment before holding up a hand, gratified by the way they all fall silent.

"This _cannot_ be allowed to stand." She looks up, meeting the eyes of each person around the table. "It is an _insult_ to our people and a threat and I will not allow savages to use stealth and sly cunning to attack my people. It is only through the skill of the sky medicine that we were able to recover from such a blow. If it is death they wish, let us rain it upon them. _Jus drein, jus daun_."

"But _Heda_ ," Furgus speaks up again and she meets his eyes, the rage simmering just below her skin as he speaks. "We do not know from whom these threats came, we could attack the wrong clans."

"The captives reported that the raiders were from the north eastern clans, the _Klakaraunonkru. _ The Skeleton People. We can only assume that the second attack came from them also."

"They wore bones on their body," Indra observes quietly and Lexa nods, lips drawn together tightly.

"They seek to fool death by dressing in the bones of their slain." A grimace runs around the table and her lip curls, disgusted. "They are never laid to rest."

"Their people must never find peace." Furgus sounds reverent, horrified and his fingers run over the pendant slung around his neck.

"They will not find it with us," Lexa vows softly and her eyes rise, scanning the faces of her council as she speaks, voice rising with each word and she steps away from the table, pacing slowly around it, around the backs of her warriors. "They came to our homes , they attacked in the dead of night with no warning and slew our men, women and children; bakers with flour on their hands, children with mud on their faces, women with babes in their bellies. When they had been defeated, they struck one final blow and tried to kill us using the very thing we rely upon to survive." She reaches a hand between Furgus and Quint, slamming her fist upon the table so loudly that Quint startles, "they are _cowards,_ who wrought death on those not meant for war. They hide from death in their very clothing, cower from the gods and from our blades, but we will allow it no longer. _Wamplei na kom_. We will be the bearers of death."

" _Jus drein, jus daun_." Furgus mutters from beside her and the chant is caught, like a child's kite in the wind, rising high around the table and Lexa feels it stoke the flames of her wrath.

There are glances however, around the table, and they do not go unnoticed.

\----

The battles up north are swift and brutal. The villages they set upon are unprepared but they fight to the death and take many of Lexa's warriors from this life with them. She leaves a warning wherever she goes, sends one or two straggling villagers back to their _Heda_ with the promise that the southern clans will not accept such an affront to their people without retaliation and that blood must have blood.

Their victory is dampened by their losses and their return to their own camp is quiet, trudging for many days through the land that slips easily from frozen wasteland to forests. There are mutterings around the campfires.

She hears them, but does not acknowledge their presence.

It is easier to let people talk. If they are really grieved by her actions let them question her publicly, as _Heda_ , rather than behind cupped hands, words hidden by the crackling of the flames.

She feels the loss of each warrior painfully, and late at night, when her fears plague her most, she will sneak from her tent and into the surrounding woods to kneel before the trees and ask the earth for guidance.

The earth does not answer and for the first time in years, she questions her choices.

They are greeted with revelry at the camp, but none of her warriors are in any mood to celebrate and so the feasts are subdued and Lexa leaves as quickly as she can, sparing time only to toast their victory and visit the families of all of the aggrieved. Tomorrow they will burn their dead, but tonight is for what little joy can be found.

In her tent, she stands over Miya's cot and watches the child sleep, eyes tracking the soft rise and fall of her chest. She is fascinated by it, enthralled by the sight of her living and breathing before her, so much so that she almost misses the quiet hiss of the tent flaps being pushed aside. Soft, gentle hands wrap around her waist and she does not move her eyes, instead resting her hands over the ones at her stomach.

"I am glad you're back." Clarke's voice is a whisper, hot breath brushing against her neck and Lexa nods once, her fingers tightening over Clarke's.

"The spirits did not see fit to leave my body yet."

"Good," she can feel Clarke's chin resting against her shoulder and breathes out a shuddering sigh as soft lips press against her jaw line. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She hesitates, eyes still fixed to Miya and there is silent, settling over them like a heavy fur as Clarke waits for her to speak. "People are talking," she admits, finally, "they say I did not have my people's best interest at heart, that I was too reckless, risked too much."

"Let them talk." She can hear the crushed, ground anger that rests in Clarke's voice, hard as stone and unforgiving. "Let them try to be a leader and see what it is to make difficult decisions."

"I fear they are right." She swallows, her throat abruptly dry as she feels Clarke shift, chin dropping from her shoulder as she moves around, turning to peer at her through the dim light.

"Explain?" It's a request, one she can easily throw off, but Clarke is part of her now, their lives are so twisted together that it feels wrong to keep such things from her.

"It is as I always thought," despite their closeness, meeting her eyes in this moment feels wrong and so Lexa keeps her gaze trained on the sleeping child, on soft, parted rosebud lips and the lilacs of her closed eyes. "She is weakness. I saw her hurt and thought of nothing more than revenge, because she is _mine_ and to harm her is the greatest sin of all. My actions cost us forty warriors."

"There were many crying out for revenge," Clarke reminds her, quietly, "you were not alone in your anger, Lexa."

"Love is weakness."

Clarke hesitates, seeming to ruminate over the words for a moment before speaking carefully. "Did you ever consider that maybe weakness draws you closer to your people? It allows you to feel their pain, understand their needs in a way that you never could before."

"I cannot allow myself to be ruled by the whims of ordinary people," she turns away quickly, tearing herself away from Clarke's grip and pacing away towards the war table. "I am a leader, I cannot take such risks."

"Regardless," Clarke lets out a soft sigh, "you are a mother now," Lexa's eyes flicker across to where Miya sleeps again, unbidden. "You must accept the weight that comes with that and learn to manage it. I will help where I can, but I have faith in you. " A hand reaches out to touch Lexa's, fisted tightly on the table, and gentle fingers coax hers apart, tangling them together. "We can do this. Don't doubt yourself."

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, illness has struck me down so head on over to onemilliongoldstars on tumblr to yell at me but like quietly because I have a headache.  
> Someone asked me to give translations for the Trigedasleng I use, so they can be found below.   
> jus oct Heda- blood of the Heda  
> shof op- shut up  
> Sis Klark kom Skaikru- Help Clarke of the Sky People  
> goufa- child  
> mounin- welcome  
> *wadaronkru- wada (water) ron (run) kru (people)- River People  
> *graunhoumkru- graun (earth) houm (home) kru (people)  
> Zog raun won, zog raun oso- attack one, attack all  
> Mebi graun uf ste kom emo- may the earth's strength be with them  
> nomon- mother  
> gona- warriot  
> strik non- little one  
> *Chit ste ai adden?- what is happening?  
> *Klakaraunonkru- klaka (bones) raunon (person) kru (people)- Skeleton People  
> Wamplei na kom- death will come  
> *= made up


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I cannot ask you as your Heda to do this but," her eyes dart back to Clarke and she reaches out again, tangling their fingers together and drawing strength from her presence. "I can ask you as a mother. Will you fight with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your kind words thus far!

Despite Clarke's words, Lexa can feel herself pulling away. But, she reasons, it is necessary.

She is first and foremost a leader, a _Heda_ to her people and they must always come first. The feeling of failure weighs heavily in her chest and she feels it with every breath, with every word she speaks. Regardless, Miya is growing up and she doesn't need to be babied as she was when she was young. She is getting taller, slowly starting to fill out her gangly, childhood frame. She is engaged in lessons and training sessions, learning the ways of the _Trigedakru_ with the other children her age. Indra teaches her to fight and soon she has moved from sparring with sticks to heavy iron, armour that is so big it falls from her shoulders and Indra has to tighten the straps as far as they will go.

Despite her lithe stature she is a quick learner, a hard worker and when she defeats her partner during training she looks up to meet Lexa's gaze with a wide, toothy smile, filled to the brim with pride. Lexa lets herself smile, just slightly, and inclines her head in her daughter's direction, lingering for a moment more before continuing through the village.

Miya learns to heal from her mother and often, when Lexa is sat in her throne, pouring over maps and treaties, she watches from the corner of her eye as Miya and Clarke sit together on the woven grass mats and Clarke patiently teaches the girl. She has a natural touch, Clarke tells her privately, within their furs and Lexa feels herself smile.

When Miya turns twelve she competes in her first tournament. It is a tradition amongst the clans and while the _skaikru_ may not approve they allow it without protest. The young warriors are chosen by their trainers to compete; it acts as a show of strength and courage and a way for commanders to note down the warriors they approve of, those they may someday choose to be their second.

Lexa stands near the edge of the arena, draped in her ceremonial robes and holds her hand up for quiet amongst the ruckus.

"My people," her voice booms out, loud and clear. "We gather here today to witness the skill of our young, passed from one generation to the next. May they be as skilled as their forefathers."

Clarke stands to her side and Lexa can see the way that her fingers fidget nervously as the first two fighters enter the arena.

"Relax," her voice is soft but it carries and Clarke's eyes dart to hers. "She is talented, she will do well. This is a moment for pride."

Liza, now a woman with command of her own, announces the fighters as they come and Lexa feels her heart constrict just slightly when they call out Miya's name.

She does not need to worry. Miya is fierce and light on her feet, her anger spilling out in harsh, controlled thrusts. She dances around her opponent, using his height and strength against him and Indra leans in from where she stands close, observing her students with tight lips.

"She is like you, _Heda_."

A flush of pleasure runs through her and she nods once, "she too has been taught well."

When Miya wins, she raises her hands above her head to great cheers from the surrounding crowd. Her face, Lexa realises with a jolt, is not the bubbling joy she had once seen but instead is sombre and serious and it is only when she sees her mothers that they see a flicker of a smile, some sign of the overflowing pride deep inside.

"She wants you to pick her as your second." Clarke informs her later, inside their tent, while Miya is out playing with her companions.

"I know," Lexa unclips her shoulder guard carefully, placing it in the engraved chest beside their furs and she sighs, ever so softly, refusing to meet Clarke's gaze as she speaks. "You know I cannot. It is too much of a distraction. I will be too worried for her."

"She is going to be so disappointed," Clarke's voice is quiet and Lexa bows her head, nodding once.

She chooses a fourteen year old boy named Athos to be her newest second and tries to ignore Miya's hand brushing up angrily against her cheek, casting away her bitter tears.

She is too young yet to be anyone's second anyway, but Lexa will likely not take another until Athos is old enough to fight alone and by then Miya will have been chosen by another.

\----

Miya's thirteenth summer brings mischief and moods. She is often to be found out, running from place to place with Orion, who has become a firm friend and a regular addition to their tent. The boy is kind and peaceful, he has more of his father in him than his mother, although he has a fiery temper that Lexa recognises far too well. It is a worryingly thought, however, because it somehow makes Miya the ringleader in their little games which have come to cause some disruption throughout the village.

They've been found sneaking out of the camp more times than Lexa can count, slipping out of the gate to swim in the lake or climb the high trees of the forest. They play fight constantly and though he is slightly younger Orion fights well, giving as good as he gets when Miya rains down her fury on him, her blows so hard that they often snap the twigs they are using.

Miya still has a sombreness to her, a serious expression that Lexa catches fleetingly and she observes their traditions with a reverence that puzzles Lexa. She is unable to reconcile the two sides of her daughter; the playful, mischievous girl who runs through the village causing mayhem and the silent child who kneels with her to pray and listens with wide eyes when she explains issues of trade and the reports of scouts.

Lexa finds her, during her thirteenth summer, drawing beneath a tree on a grassy hillside. It is one of her rarer quiet days and the summer sky is periwinkle blue, the colour of Miya's eyes. She trudges her way slowly up the hill, wishing as she has many times that any public appearances did not demand for her to be in full uniform. Her summer regalia is barely better than the furs of the colder months.

"Hello." She comes to a stop beside the girl and Miya looks up, squinting through the sun to where Lexa stands above her.

" _Nomon_ , _mounin_."

Lexa slips to the grass beside her, crossing her legs and looking curiously over her shoulder, watching the lines of charcoal as they come to life before her.

"What are you drawing?"

"The world," Miya tells her simply and Lexa recognises the curve of the earth, the lands and seas that she's heard Clarke describe so many times. "Do you ever wonder what it must have been like for mother?" Miya's hand stills and her eyes travel up to the sky, pondering.

"Often," Lexa admits, wrinkling her nose slightly. "I do not think I would have liked it."

"Me neither," Miya admits, softly and she folds up her sketchpad, looking up at Lexa with eyes so very like Clarke's. " _Nomon_ , when do you leave again?"

"I travel west to the sea with a group of scouts in the morning." Lexa tells her, fingers running through the dry grass beside them as she thinks of the journey, long and arduous.

"May I come?"

Lexa lets out a sigh. This is a conversation they have had too many times for her to count and her answer never changes.

"No, you may not."

"That's not fair!" Miya glowers, her eyes fiery with anger and Lexa steels herself for an inevitable argument. They do not happen often, usually Miya clashes with her mother so when the girl decides to unleash her fury on Lexa it can come as something of a shock.

"It's nothing to do with fairness, Miya."

"I want to see the world! I want to leave the forest, see the desert and the sea and the mountains, like you both have!"

"The village is a safe space for you to learn and grow," Lexa retorts, easily. "You are not yet ready for the world."

"Like you'd know," the words are spat bitterly and she jolts as if shocked, startled by the words. "Like I even matter to you."

"You matter to me a great deal." Her voice is cool, stoic and she sees Miya flinch a little, her eyes falling to the ground. "Your mother and I struggled hard to be blessed with you, but I am still your _Heda_ Miya, do not forget that. You are one of my people and you, like all other children, must learn to defend yourself before you go gallivanting into the woods, am I understood?"

"Yes, _Heda_." The words are murmured and there is an air of despair that hangs around them, but Miya keeps her head bowed and Lexa feels a twinge of regret.

"You are a brilliant girl," she is soft, a mother once again, and Miya's eyes tear up to meet hers. "I trust that you will do great things one day, but for now I must keep you safe and you must prove that you can be trusted. You must embrace our laws and traditions and step into your role as an adult if you wish to be treated as one."

Miya nods, sombrely and Lexa climbs to her feet, holding out a hand for her.

"Come, your mother sent me to fetch you for dinner."

\----

Her devotion is tested several weeks later.

Lexa is inspecting the damage caused a property by a runaway horse when Athos comes running, calling for her. She fears the worst immediately, giving her apologies to the carpenter and warrior living in the residence before following, Indra and Liza following with heavy footsteps behind her.

She is led across the village, to the furthest reaches where the farmers plough their fields and the warriors train and she is just beginning to question Athos when they emerge upon the source of his distress. Several men have separated a skirmish, it seems. One man is held, struggling to be freed. He is a boy really, no older than nineteen, but Lexa recognises him as one of their farmers, a bitter and reclusive man who shies away from their traditions, only emerging to make his concerns known at open meetings in loud, drunken tones. He is sporting a black eye and a broken nose and blood gushes from a cut to his thigh and Lexa tries to suppress her flicker of pleasure at the sight of him.

"Who did this?" She demands, voice loud and clear through the commotion and the men turn, bowing their heads respectfully, before Athos says, hesitantly.

"She did, _Heda_."

She turns, her eyes widening when she spots the small figure stood calmly between two wide shouldered men. Miya has a cut down her cheek and bruises are blossoming across her arms, but there is no other sign of injury. Her face is set in a stubborn mask and she looks so much like her mother in this moment that Lexa almost doubles over.

"Miya," her shock is hard to contain, "what happened here?"

"That little _branwada_ attacked me." The injured man points a trembling finger in Miya's direction and she squares her shoulders.

"He went for me as well." Is all she says and Lexa blinks, looking between them.

"He-" Orion is stood close by, as he always is, and goes to start talking but a sharp look from Miya snaps his mouth shut.

"Orion," Lexa paces closer, casting a look between her daughter and the boy, "speak true."

He seems torn, eyes dancing form Miya to Lexa and back again and Indra steps forward and commands, her voice like ice. "Do as your _Heda_ commands boy."

"He was saying stuff." Orion admits, at last.

"Threatening me." Miya puts in, eyes clouded and slightly sullen, "I was defending myself."

"She was wild, _Heda_ ," one of the men reports, expression nervous. "I fear she would have killed him if we hadn't pulled her away."

"He deserved it," Miya snaps, irritably and tugs a little at the hands holding her.

"I could have been killed!" The man wails, "she is a _dog,_ feral and uncontrollable like an animal."

"Careful," Lexa intones, her voice dangerously soft, "you may both be my people but she is my daughter."

"And as _your daughter_ , I suppose she will not face the consequences." The man glowers at her, brows heavy and she hears the hiss of Indra drawing her sword behind her.

"You will not speak that way to your _Heda_."

"No," Lexa holds out a hand and sucks in a slightly shaky breath, eyes slipping to Miya. "He is right, special treatment cannot be allowed."

"But _Heda_ -" Liza steps forward as well, her face aghast but Lexa just shakes her head.

" _Miya kom Trigedakru en Skaikru_ , the penalty for such needless violence is five lashes. Is there anything more you wish to say?"

She meets her daughter's eyes, begs her, pleads for her to say something, anything that will stop this horrendous crime, but Miya only shakes her head, glaring out under tangled dark hair and Lexa lets out a shuddering breath before she speaks, her voice wavering.

"Then I have no choice but to sentence you to five lashes, this evenfall."

\----

Most punishments are carried out publically, but Lexa uses her authority to move this event away from prying eyes. A pole is stationed behind her tent and guards are pacing at the perimeter to stop onlookers. She will not hear of any protest to her arrangements, feels blessed only that Clarke has been away at the remnants of the dropship for several days and no word of this seems to have found its way to her. She has torches placed close, lighting up the area and only when this is done does she step into her tent and looks to where Miya is sat silently on her cot. A guard stands beside her but he is dismissed to stand at the door and she approaches Miya slowly, standing before her daughter.

"Miya," it's only at her voice that the girl looks up. Her eyes are hard as iron, but there are tears tracks down her cheeks and Lexa allows herself to reach out and brush the soft flesh just once. "Are you ready?"

Miya nods once, tightly, but it is Lexa who hesitates.

"Miya, _please_ , is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

Miya's eyes flicker, just once, to the guard by the door and Lexa knows that there is something more, another layer to this story, but when Miya shakes her head there is nothing else to be done.

She leads her daughter outside, sees personally to placing her hands against the wood above her head and securing her there before slowly, with delicate precision, cutting away the back of her tunic to reveal young, pale skin, unblemished. She places a soft kiss at her daughter's trembling neck before she pulls away and murmurs tender words in her ear.

_"Ste yuj_."

_Be strong._

Indra stands behind her, watching with clear anger in her eyes, but she knows better than to contradict her leader and instead steps forward only to hand her the switch before backing away again.

Usually a general will perform this task, but Lexa will not be on the sidelines.

This is her burden to bear.

Her hand swings back and she can only hope that the swish of the instrument through the air is enough warning, because the strike comes down hard on Miya's flesh and the girl cries out, arching her back away. It is not hard out to draw blood, but the skin is red and raw and Lexa feels her heart ache at the sight.

" _Won_."

The second strike is slightly softer and Miya only releases a slight yelp, her body shivering with tears and Lexa can hear the crack in her ragged breathing. The third is harder and draws blood and she feels the tears in her own eyes tumble down her cheeks at the agonising cry it rips from Miya's throat and follows it with the fourth quickly before she is crushed by her own cowardice. Miya sobs again, twisting and Lexa hears the words within her cries.

" _Nomon! Beja!"_

The final strike is nothing, barely a graze compared to the others, before she is dropping the switch as if it is on fire and striding closer, her knife slicing at Miya's bindings. The girl slumps forward, too exhausted to hold her own weight and Indra appears, holding out soft furs to drape around her as Miya clings to Lexa, her body convulsing with shivers and sobs.

It seems to take only seconds for them to whisk her away inside the tent, encouraging her onto her front in the furs Lexa and Clarke usually share, and Indra sits with her, places a comforting hand against her hair as Lexa brings the fresh pale of warm water and the antibiotics closer. Enough time spent with Clarke has taught her what she needs and she is grateful for it at this moment, the thought of another touching her daughter in this state almost abhorrent. The wounds are cleaned and bandaged quickly and Indra brings a warm drink filled with soothing herbs closer, as Lexa hands Miya two white pills to kill the pain and eases her gently upwards so that she can drink without choking.

The liquid and the pain soon soothe her into sleep and Indra leaves with one final glance as Lexa slips onto the furs behind her daughter and holds her close.

\----

Miya wakes an hour later with a soft whimper, half a sob already erupting from her mouth and Lexa leans forward, running a hand down her hair to murmur soothing words in her ear.

"Miya," the girl tries to turn to look at her but Lexa places a hand on her shoulder, stilling her. "Careful, it must hurt."

Miya just nods, burying her face into the furs and Lexa sees a tremble run through her, her hands fisting in the furs for a moment.

"Breathe," she advises softly and Miya twists to peer up at her, eyelashes heavy with tears. "Try to calm yourself, it will help with the pain."

"How do you know?" The words are cracked, accompanied by a slight sniffle and Lexa watches her sombrely for a moment, considering, before she turns and raises her shirt. Miya lets out a gasp from behind her and gentle fingers reach out to trace the horizontal lines that lie beneath the riddle of scars marring her back, old and faded. "You...?"

"Me," she nods, letting her shirt drop as she turns to look at her daughter. "I was young and reckless and I allowed myself to be bated into a fight. I was stronger than the girl who tempted me."

"But you are the _Heda_." Miya frowns at her, puzzled brows pulling together.

"No one is exempt from our rules Miya," Lexa informs her quietly, "as the _Heda_ I am especially bound by them. My punishment was public and I accepted it without complaint, my people thought better of me for it."

Miya just nods, pressing her cheek back into the furs and Lexa watches her take long, steady breaths for a few minutes. Her trembling fades, her body stilling until she is calm, the tears on her cheeks drying slowly.

"I know there was something more you didn't tell me." She murmurs, it feels like an insult to speak any louder and Miya stiffens a little at her words, her eyes staying firmly shut. "Do you want to tell me now?" Lexa prompts, after a moment's pause, "the punishment is over, no more harm can be done."

"There was a reason why I beat up that guy," Miya's words are slow, hesitant, but Lexa waits patiently until she continues. "He was insulting you, insulting your leadership."

Her jaw tightens and she feels her heart constrict at the words, "why didn't you tell me?"

"Because," Miya lets out a shuddering breath and when her eyes finally flicker open to meet Lexa's, they are so serious that they are almost grey. "There is still no excuse for what I did, I allowed myself to be manipulated by him. Plus I know how this world works, _nomon_. Your daughter couldn't be seen fighting your battles, getting into trouble in your name, it would have undermined your authority."

"You foolish girl," her words are undercut by a tender tone, affectionate fingers running over her jaw. "You should have told me."

"No, I was wrong to hurt him so much. I abused my position as a warrior."

There is silence for a moment and Lexa twists a strand of dark hair around her fingers as she says, gently, "well, for what it's worth I am proud to call you my daughter."

"Really?" Miya's eyes flicker up to her and a smile stretches her lips despite the gashes running down her back. "You mean it?"

"Of course," she leans forward to place a kiss to the girl's clammy forehead. "I have always been proud of you Miya."

\----

Clarke is furious when she finds out. Lexa steps into the tent to be greeted with harsh, angry eyes and accusations. Miya's tunic is lifted high so her mother can inspect her wounds and the girl is watching them with wide, anxious eyes, chewing uncertainly on her lip. It takes only a few words from their daughter to calm Clarke, but Lexa is treated with cold looks and sharp words for the next fortnight as Miya recovers. She can't exactly blame the blonde.

Miya changes after the incident, as if something switches inside her. The mischief and moods stop and more often than not Lexa finds her at her mother's side in the medical bay, acting as an assistant as Clarke patches up injuries and heals illnesses. She trains harder as well, or so Lexa is told by her council, who seem impressed by Miya's dedication and skill.

It is after her fourteenth birthday that Miya requests a private audience with her _nomon_ and tells Lexa in quiet, nervous words that while she still wants to fight and act as someone's second, she wants to be a healer as well. Lexa has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning and holds out a hand from where she sits on her throne, drawing Miya closer to say.

"You will make a wonderful healer, you have a gift for it."

Miya beams, big and strong.

\----

The peace of their last few years has been fractured, uncertain, and when Indra returns from a battle with a crushed leg and significant blood loss, they think they may lose her.

She pulls through, but she is weakened and when she finally wakes she asks immediately for Lexa to impart worrying knowledge.

\----

"The _Heda kom Klakaraunonkru_ has sworn vengeance for the crimes committed three summers ago. There have been reports that she has been rallying her armies, perfecting her strategy and preparing her people and now she is eager for war." Lexa tells her council, seriously. "I know that many of you question my actions from all those years ago and while I will not apologise for them, I will acknowledge that they have played a part in this volatile reaction."

There is a murmuring of agreement, until she raises a hand and continues, calmly, meeting the gaze of each council member.

"We train and we prepare but I refuse to make the first attack. If it is war they want let them attack here, where we have the advantage. The fight of the _Klakaraunonkru_ is specifically with me and I refuse to put our people in danger again."

People nod, say her title softly and the decision is made.

\----

They crash through the gate with no warning, loud and shouting out for her and Lexa jolts out of her throne, striding across the tent to throw open the flaps, expecting her enemy. Instead it is her own people, a heavily manned hunting party she sent out earlier that day and she stands, puzzled, at the entrance to her war tent. Behind her Indra limps out, slow but still determined and Lexa remains where she is, if only to spare her oldest friend the walk down to meet the party.

They come to her anyway and she sees Liza sprinting up the slope, her weapons bouncing against her thighs as her comrades follow at a slowly pace.

" _Heda_ ," she is gasping for breath, but still forces the words out and Lexa has to smile at her loyalty, despite the fear gripping her gut.

"Calm Liza, breathe." She reminds the girl gently, but Liza shakes her head, eyes wide.

"No _Heda_! Miya and Orion are gone!"

"Gone?" Lexa jolts, startling away as if she has been burnt. "Explain!" She demands, harsh and raging and the boy Lexa recognises as Liza's second steps forward, speaking quickly.

"They were with us on the trip, _Heda_ , but they have been taken."

"Taken?" Lexa echoes the word, dread flooding through her, "how do you know?"

"This was pinned to a tree, _Heda_ ," Liza steps forward and brings a crumpled piece of parchment from her pocket, accompanied by a small, dark braid. She takes them both, holding them reverently and running her fingers over the braid she remembers constructing as Miya hummed softly and dreadfully out of tune beneath her.

" _Miya_ ," she breathes the word and feels her knees buckle. Indra's arm reaches out to catch and steady her and then Liza is on her other side, helping her into the tent and depositing her into her throne as she stares, the words on the parchment blurring before her eyes. "What does it say?" She snaps and then more loudly, when neither of them answer. " _What does it say?_ "

"It says that the _Klakaraunonkru_ have taken Miya and will return her only when they are delivered two hundred _Trigedakru_ for their slavers, including you _Heda,_ and the fealty of the clan."

"Never," Indra spits, furious, " _Heda_ we must prepare for war."

"No," Lexa shakes her head, speaking curtly. "No, I cannot lead our people into this war, I swore I would not."

"But they have Miya!" Liza steps closer, aghast. "We cannot leave her!"

"That is _my problem_ ," Lexa snaps, angrily, "I would not risk the whole clan for one member, not when the reports of the _Klakaraunonkru_ seem to be true. They are better equipped than us, even if we succeeded it would be a massacre."

"But she is not just a civilian," Indra grunts, "she is the _jus oct Heda_."

"She must be treated as any other." Lexa tells her, firmly, "I am the _Heda_ , I must rule with my head and not my heart. My people come first."

"You can't leave her!" Liza riles, fierce in her fury. " _I_ will go to find her!"

"No," Lexa stands abruptly and then watch as her eyes flicker to her armour in the corner. "I shall. It is my duty."

\----

"I'm going with you." Clarke insists, later that day. She is a hurricane, furious and raging and uncontrollable and Lexa is almost glad to let her anger continue, because she isn't quite sure that she can stand holding her as she weeps over their lost child. She must be strong, for Miya.

She wants to protest, wants to persuade Clarke to stay but it would be fruitless and she is shamelessly selfish. If she is to die in the forest, she cannot do it alone knowing that her daughter is in danger. Clarke will be able to continue their quest and regardless, they are better together.

"I expected nothing less," she tells her seriously, tugging the buckles on her shoulder piece into place. Her red sash will stay behind, for the next _Heda_ if this foolish mission proves to be her last.

"I will _not_ abandon her," Clarke continues, seemingly deaf to her words and when Lexa's eyes venture over the blonde, her fingers are trembling so much that she can't do the buckles of her shield.

"Clarke," she steps closer, her hands coming to rest over Clarke's and she gently tightens the grips on her armour. She's so close that she can feel Clarke trembling, see the shivers that run through her and she breathes out, softly. "We can do this."

"We _have to_." Clarke is grim faced when Lexa moves away and she nods once, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"We will."

" _Heda_ ," Ramsey, one of her regular guards, calls from outside, a warning before he steps into the tent, ducking to get through the low entrance. "You are needed."

"What is it?" She snaps, irritable, "it must wait."

"It cannot," he tells her, adamantly and she lets out a huff of breath, following him to the flaps in her tent.

She takes only one step outside before she falters, shocked by the sight that greets her. There are over three hundred people gathered outside the tent, villagers of all shapes and sizes and at their head stands Indra, leaning on her cane heavily but smug nonetheless, and Liza, tight lipped and determined.

"What is this?" She asks those closest to her, raising her hand distractedly to acknowledge those gathered when they shout her name.

"Your army, _Heda_." Ramsey tells her and there is the echo of a smile in his voice as he steps, turning to align himself with the group.

"Explain," she tells Indra sharply and the woman bows her head a little in acknowledgement, limping forward.

"You argue that you cannot ask your people to fight for you, _Heda_ , but they are offering. These people are _Skaikru_ and _Trigedakru_ and they all want to help you. You cannot deny them."

She feels a hand slipping into hers and turns to see Clarke beside her, a soft, tearful smile stretching across her face. Blue eyes meet green and she squeezes at Lexa's hand once, struggling against her tears.

"I watched Miya grow up, _Heda_ , we all did." Liza speaks with emotion, her voice cracking a little. "We will not see her threatened so."

"This is true of everyone?" She feels weak with hope, fragile with the possibility that cracks through her like a glass trinket.

It may not be a death mission.

"Everyone," Liza confirms eagerly, "they heard of your decision and volunteered."

"You should speak to them," Clarke tells her, nodding a little when she looks back to her. "They need to hear from their _Heda_."

"Indeed," she steps forward, still feeling a little dazed and holds up her hands, waiting patiently until those gathered fall silent, waiting for her to speak. "My people," her voice rings out through the night, but she still relies on the group to relay the message back to those at the back of the pack. "I thank you for your sacrifice. I cannot ask you as your _Heda_ to do this but," her eyes dart back to Clarke and she reaches out again, tangling their fingers together and drawing strength from her presence. "I can ask you as a mother. Will you fight with me?"

The response is overwhelming, hollering and hooting and cheers and Lexa nods, speaking over the ruckus.

"Then every able bodied person shall join us, we leave at first light. Be ready and I thank you."

There are tears on her cheeks, but she ignores them. Clarke's words ring in her head, clear even as her people cheer.

_Maybe your weakness brings you closer to your people_.

\----

They strategise in hastily constructed tents, around fires, as they ride through the forest; anywhere that they can. The mission is a rushed job, thrown together with little thought and it makes Lexa feels uncertain so she gathers her closest council whenever she can. Bellamy is included in this elite group, as are Lincoln, Octavia and Liza. Clarke stands at her side in everything, a voice of passion and encouragement in their discussions and while Lexa misses Indra's cool pragmatism, she finds something of a replacement in Lincoln. Octavia, like Clarke, is filled with fire and fury, crackling with anger and Lexa finds solace in Lincoln's cool response to his son's disappearance.

Truthfully, everything is clearer for her now. She has been raised to do this, born to fight battles and make plans. She knows that there is no one better to help her daughter and that is enough of a reassurance.

The journey to the northern regions will take a fortnight at least, but Lexa is comforted by the knowledge that Miya and Orion also have to make the trip and that keeps them away from the clutches of the _Heda kom Klakaraunonkru_.

They meet with several other clans on their travels and while they find no volunteers to join them, they do find support and supplies and advice. The further north they get, the more useful this advice becomes, detailing the habits of the _Klakaraunonkru_ , their weapons and tactics and the high white palace that their commander resides in.

They are inevitably slower than Miya and Orion, however, such a large group travelling at a more languid pace than a smaller party would. The knowledge weighs heavily on them all and she can see the tension building in Clarke, making her words sharp and her temper short.

"We're never going to find her," she murmurs softly inside their tent, when Lexa is sat on their furs, looking over the more detailed maps they have been given.

"You don't know that," she intones, easily and Clarke turns, furious.

"I know there's a _chance_."

"There is also a chance that we _will_ find her, unharmed." Lexa doesn't look up as Clarke stomps forward.

"As if that will happen! The Skeleton People will slice her to pieces, just as they did with Costia."

Her eyes shoot up at the name and she feels her jaw clench angrily. "They will not."

"Stop _saying that_." Clarke spits at her, "there's no way you can know so just _stop_."

"I will not allow it to happen, not this time." Lexa's fists ball into tight circles and she shakes her head once. "We are going for her, they have no need to hurt her. For all they know, we are surrendering."

"I need you to stop being so calm about this," Clarke snaps, pacing back and forth over the small mat beside their furs.

"I cannot." She tells her simply and Clarke's eyes turn to her curiously. "If I do, I may give up entirely."

\----

Two nights later Lexa slips to her knees before a tall oak only a few metres from the circle of light cast by campfires and lights a solitary candle, bringing her old pendant between her fingers and laying her head against the earth to mumble soft prayers into the dirt.

Footsteps disturb her after a few minutes of prayer and she looks up, startled, to see Clarke stood a few paces away. She holds a candle between her hands and she looks as if she has been crying, her fingers trembling.

"I've never believed in god or anything before but-" she stumbles over her words, swallowing anxiously against threatening tears before continuing. "Will you teach me? Your prayer?"

"Of course," Lexa holds out a hand to guide her closer, bringing her down to her knees and guiding her until her forehead is touch the grass and her palms are spread out and open in front of her. "We do not believe in a god, but rather the power of the earth and life itself. _Graun_."

"Has it ever worked before?" Clarke murmurs, turning her head from the ground for a second to look up at her through the dim light.

"I was given you when I thought you were gone," Lexa tells her, softly and Clarke nods once, moving back to the earth again, her voice muffled when she speaks.

"Teach me."

Obediently, Lexa returns to her position and begins to explain the oldest version of her language, the one now lost to most but held dear only in prayer. She recites the words, describes their meaning and listens carefully as Clarke echoes the words back to her, stumbling and uncertain, but still hopeful and slightly desperate. They press their heads to the ground and let the words fall to the earth, let the forest take them into her cool, crisp certainty and the worship seems to wrap them around one another, although they stay inches apart. Their voices raise in tandem and though she has been a _Heda_ all of her life, a god amongst men, she feels humbled to a frantic, fearful parent in the face of the earth's great energy.

When voices join theirs she jolts, ripping herself from her worship to turn and her breath catches in her throat at the hundreds of candles that light the faces of her people, bent with her in prayer. She spots the faces of Bellamy and the other _Skaikru_ and behind her is Liza, her sandy braids falling forward over her head as she joins the never ending chant. They are bathed in the golden light of the candles and though her worship has always been a private thing, she suddenly feels a rush of warmth so great that her heart constricts in her chest.

"They are praying in the villages too, _Heda_ ," Liza tells her, ever so quietly, head rising. "The earth will hear our calls and she will gift us with fortune."

She almost feels too overwhelmed to speak, but she reaches out to grasp Liza's elbow, feeling the fingers of her ever faithful friend wrap around her own. " _Graun uf ste kom yu_."

Liza smiles, just slightly and nods. " _Graun uf ste kom yu, Heda."_

_The earth's strength be with you._

At that moment she feels more like a commander than she has ever done in battle.

\----

As they approach the northern clans, they learn more valuable information from neighbouring villages. The Cave People offer hospitality to the _Heda_ and her council for the night and they sit around the fire in the largest of the caverns that pepper the mountains like large dark eyes, staring down at the frozen wastelands of the north. Lexa places herself near the fire, with Clarke at her side and they warm chilled fingertips, drinking the hot mulled wine that Kirth offers them and listening as he recalls all he knows of the _Klakaraunonkru_. He and his people have learnt much in their attacks on the Skeleton People, at the expense of too many warriors, and he imparts his knowledge but tells them he can risk nothing more than the weapons and supplies he presses into their hands. They are plagued by the skeletons and cannot fight those who sneak as if night has been stitched to their shoes into their camps and slaughter families for invented crimes.

Lexa bows her head and thanks him for the meat and wine.

That night, around the crackling fire, alone but for the Trigedakru guards placed at the perimeters of the cavern, Lexa and her council formulate a strategy.

"We sneak over their battlements, once dusk is upon them. We attack from the western side, the mountains are lower and the setting sun will blind them." Lexa draws a circle in the sandy ground at her feet with the tip of her sword and her warriors nod, watching her intently. "Then we slip through the market crowds, they will still be busy selling the last of their wares and will not notice us. Lincoln, Octavia, Clarke and I will make our way to the palace of their _Heda_ and attempt to find entrance. Bellamy and Liza will go to the gates and open them for the rest of our people who will be waiting in the woods."

"Will their people not be scouting the woods _Heda_?" Octavia puts in, hands playing with the wooden token that dangles off the handle of her dagger.

"Kirth tells us that their people fear the woods, they are legend to hold the ghosts of the past peoples of these lands. It is why their scavengers were so eager to find solace in villages and settlements." Lexa reports, drawing a smaller circle inside the larger one while she speaks and a few triangles around the battlements to show the evergreen trees that grow high and strong.

"It is no wonder their people are so haunted, when they use their dead so." Lincoln turns his head to spit in disgust, casting the bad spirits away from him and Lexa nods, sombrely.

"Regardless of their beliefs, this is advantageous to us. The trees will act as cover so our people may attack with the element of surprise. Such a distraction will allow us to enter the palace freely and search out Miya and Orion."

"You are sure they will be there?" Bellamy asks, his voice tight.

"If there are not, I will burn the city to the ground until I find them." Lexa promises, softly.

_"Jus drein, jus daun."_ The muttered words come from beside her and she reaches out to place her hand over Clarke's and squeeze steadily.

\----

The guards on the battlements go down silently. It takes only the slice of Lexa's dagger and a few shafts loosened from Octavia's bow to send them falling to the floor with low groans and slight thumps and they are free to usher the rest of their party up and over the battlements. A moment of hesitation follows, before a guard tower is found and they slip down the steps, Clarke placing a knife into the gut of the warrior who tries to stand in their way and they pause for a moment, taking their reprise while they can to exchange glances.

Bellamy turns and pulls Clarke in for a quick hug and Lexa hears him mutter in her ear. "Find her. Bring her home."

Liza meets her gaze and nods once, respectfully.

" _Ste yuj_ , Liza," Lexa tells her, quietly and Liza nods again, mouth set in a thin, determined lie as she tugs at Bellamy, pulling up their hoods and disappearing out into the street.

"We will meet you outside the palace," Lexa tells Octavia and Lincoln and at their nod, she tangles her fingers with Clarke's, nodding once and pulling her from the guard tower.

\----

Lexa wakes to darkness and the icy splash of cold water seeping through her clothes and over her skin. Her eyes blink and she is momentarily disorientated, surrounded only by darkness and aware that her limbs are strangely strained. As her mind rights itself she feels every muscle in her body stiffen and she registers with odd clarity that her head is covered by a dark bag and the strain in her arms comes from the chains hanging her upwards, suspended from her wrists with only her toes brushing the ground.

Everything had happened very quickly. One moment they were outside the palace, loitering close by under the pretence of an argument in an alley and the next they heard the crash of swords and the shouts of furious warriors as her army stormed the gate, rushing into the street with raised weapons and anger in their eyes. In the chaos they managed to slip past the guards at the entrance to the palace, setting off at a sprint down the corridors, but guards had surrounded the four of them and no sooner was she fighting than a sharp blow struck her head and she had drifted, shifting into the sleep that she is now so rudely awakened from.

She stays still, waiting, and wonders whether Clarke is also captured. The thought makes her jaw clench and she can't help but shift a little in her bonds, wincing when a hand comes out to rip the hood from her head, tugging at her hair as it does so.

She is met by the smiling, distorted face of a man, whose greasy fingers reach out to grasp at her cheeks and turn her face from side to side, examining her carefully.

"Ah ya," he speaks something closer to English than Trigedaslang, a slurring, blurred version. "You gottem good face. I wark well."

"What do you want, _branwada_?" the word must be foreign to him, but the way that she spits it cannot be mistaken and he swings back a fist, backhanding her forcefully, but she barely flinches, turning to glower at him.

"Felis, calm." Another man steps into the room, more stately and taller. He is puny, she thinks with surprise, thin and gangly and no good for battle and yet he seems to hold himself with a dignity reserved only for her greatest warriors. What use is this man, she wonders, who she could kill with a single hit? "I see that you two have become acquainted." He speaks in rigid, stiff English, clicking through the words in a way that is harsh and sounds foreign. "I trust no real harm had been done?"

She says nothing, her jaw stiff with anger and she is grateful to see, when her eyes flicker down to observe her body, that she is still wearing her vest and deerskin pants, though her coat and armour has been thrown aside. She is glad, in a flash, that her red sash remains in her tent with Indra.

"Explain why you are your friends were in our palace." The man demands and she looks at him, wondering idly what actual harm this man could commit to her, he who is so very small. He sighs and nods at the smaller man and Felis swings his fists again, letting them rain down against her chest and jaw until she is forced to gasp for breath, her only noise under the onslaught.

"This does not have to be so difficult," another strike hits her stomach, "we only need your name and your intent." His words are punctuated with a slamming fist that collides with her face and she grunts just slight at the impact, watching through a swollen eye as the taller man holds up a hand and approaches her, eyeing her carefully.

"You are making this hard." He observes, but his gaze is fixed to her tattoos and she stiffens, watching as he looks at them with interest, before circling her and she flinches away from the hands that lift her back and expose her back.

"You..." His murmured word, with a breath of awe, tell her that he knows and she snaps, commanding the full force of the spirits that inhabit her into her voice.

"Indeed, I am Lexa, _Heda kom Trigedakru_ and I demand to see your leader. Now."

He rushes from the room and she is left, watching as Felis eyes her.

"You be leada," he states, obviously, "you be important." He takes a step closer and she cringes as he nears her, his stink permeating the air around them.

"You need to bathe." She tells him shortly and while he does not seem to understand English, the words clearly make sense because he scowls and backhands her angrily. She raises her head, hair spilling over her cheeks and eyes and spits blood and saliva in his direction.

He reaches for her again, furious, but a loud shot rings through the room and suddenly there is blood leaking from his chest and he is falling forward, onto her and she grimaces, kicking him away as she looks up. Relief washes through her, like the stream of a clear river after a drought and Clarke rushes forwards, hands reaching out to cup her cheeks and hold her gently.

She is crying, Lexa realises after a moment and she leans in to kiss away the tears that sparkle on Clarke's cheeks, trying her best to comfort her as Clarke hurries to release her from her shackles.

"I thought you were gone," her words are choked, murmured into the crook of Lexa's neck and when her hands fall, she lets them drape around Clarke, pressing their lips together for a second before she leans away and reassures gently.

"I would not leave you on my own terms."

" _Heda_ ," Lincoln's head appears around the door, "we must hurry."

She nods to him, hurrying to shrug into her coat and Clarke helps her tug on her armour, clipping it in place.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Clarke asks, impatiently, as they hurry from the room and out into the white stone corridors where Lincoln and Octavia wait.

"Yes," she nods once, "but their _Heda_ knows we are here, she will be searching. We must be quick." She ushers them further down the corridor as she speaks, urging them on, eyes darting back and forth anxiously. "Their dungeons must be down here or they wouldn't have brought me here to torture me."

"So how do we find them?" Octavia comes to a stumbling stop behind her when Lexa halts, holding up a hand as she peers down the two corridors that branch out from each other.

"Split up, Clarke and I will go this way, the two of you go the other. Shout if you find anything, be cautious for guards, we are few in numbers."

Octavia nods and she and Lincoln take off down the eastward corridor, their feet quiet against the dirt trodden floor even as they run and Lexa turns, eyes finding Clarke a few paces away behind her. Her eyes are wide, frantic with fear and adrenaline and Lexa reaches out a hand, grasping at hers tightly to squeeze their interwoven fingers.

"Clarke." Blue eyes snap up to meet hers, rimmed with red but flashing with steely determination. "We _will_ find them."

"We'd better," Clarke mutters, pacing past her down the corridor. "Or I will tear this place to the ground looking."

\----

They find the children in the dungeon, hidden away in a tiny cell. They are chained to the wall, but Orion still jerks bravely to his feet when the door swings open. Both are thin, dirty and ragged from days of travelling and riddled with bruises that Lexa doesn't want to think about. The second she sees familiar blue eyes staring out from hollowed cheeks she abandons all coherent thought, sprinting for the girl and wrapping her arms around her, clinging tightly to her fragile body as if she can make her small again and easy to protect.

" _Heda_ ," Orion breathes gratefully and Lexa looks up from tear filled eyes to reach, half blind, for the boy, embracing him briefly as a trembling Clarke holds Miya in her arms, before pulling away to brush angrily at her tears and clap him on his shoulder.

"You have been so brave, I am proud to call you _Trigedakru_." She tells him, sombrely and he flushes with pleasure, smiling at her a little shyly despite the fact that she has known him since he was a babe. "Are you hurt?" Her other hand stretches out, reaching to touch the crown of Miya's head, still buried in her mother's shoulder, as if she can't bear to be parted from her.

"Not much," Orion's shackles rattle when he moves.

"They didn't do a lot," Miya draws her head out from the crook of Clarke's neck to look at Lexa with eyes that are slightly damp. "Asked us questions we didn't understand, hit us when we couldn't tell them the answer."

"Good," Lexa turns, examining the shackles that held their wrists and ankles to the stone. "We can pick these," she decides, after a moment and reaches into the small pack attached her to her hip to retrieve two metal pins, passing one over to Clarke as she begins to work on Orion's manacles.

"How long have you been here?" Miya asks, as the first lock clicks willingly under her hands, springing free.

"Just a day," Clarke answers, softly, "we came as soon as we heard."

"Is it a war?" There is caution in Orion's voice and Lexa looks at him, surprised by the grave expression on his face.

"Not as such," the second lock flicks open and Orion rubs at his wrists gratefully as Lexa moves to his ankles. "Our army wears no colours, they are volunteers, people who wanted to save you." Her eyes flicker up to meet Miya's and she sees a flush of emotion run through her daughter's expression. "They act as a diversion, we are here with your parents." She nods to Orion as the locks on his ankles pull free and stands, turning to see Miya and Clarke watching her expectantly.

"Our priority now is to escape," she tells them, seriously and nods to the bow swung across Clarke's body. "I hear you are adept with a quiver, Orion. We'll see how much you have learnt."

As Clarke helps to equip the boy she approaches Miya, hand reaching out to press against her cheek tenderly before slipping down to brush against her shoulder. She extracts the dagger at her side and the wooden, studded handle is pushed into Miya's grip. Her daughter's eyes are wide with surprise when she looks up at her, blinking uncertainly at her as she fingers the weapon, turning it over in her hands tentatively.

"Use this well," Lexa instructs her, quietly.

"But this is the _Heda's_ dagger _nomon_ , passed down from one to another."

"And now I give it to you." Lexa's words are soft, heavy with intent and she closes Miya's fingers firmly around the handle. "I killed my first man with this and I tell you now what my mentor told me then: human life is precious and to spill blood is unnatural. Kill only when you need to, but when you do don't hesitate."

"Yes _nomon_ ," eyes filled with cornflowers look up at her and she remembers, abruptly, the sight of such eyes wrapped in a thick blanket, wisps of dark head upon her head as small hands reached out for reassurance, body tiny and fragile as a feather. Now they are hard as ice, cracked with compassion but strong nonetheless. " _Jus drein, jus daun_."

"Exactly, no more and no less." Leaning in, her lips brush against Miya's forehead, a whispered blessing pressed against young skin. "Do not be afraid Miya. You are the _jus oct Heda_."

\----

The battle is vicious and filled with fury.

Miya fights beside her and Lexa sees her slice the throat of the man trying to kill her and feels something pull wretchedly at her gut. It's a strange feeling of regret and inevitability, as if the patterns of their lives are woven in a great tapestry that cannot be undone, no matter how much one may pick at the threads.

When Miya watches her kill the Skeleton Queen, there is no fear in her eyes and no bloodlust either.

Instead, as she slides her blade through the woman who stole her child, there is an understanding in Miya's eyes and sadness aged beyond her years.

She will be a healer, Lexa realises from that moment. There is too much of her mother in her and Lexa is glad.

\----

She hears their laughter from amongst the trees. With a raised hand, she brings her hunting party to a slow halt, turning to peer through the forest in search of figures. They are not to be found within the woods and she waves on the rest of her party, gesturing for them to continue on their way and steers her mount towards the familiar sounds of childish, glee filled giggles, Rufus falling into step behind her.

The hooves of their mounts crash through the foliage, a ready warning for any of their approach, but when they emerge from the trees into the clearing, no one turns to look. Lexa spies Clarke, a few metres down the pebble strewn beach, looking out at the lake where the parents and children of her clan play and frolic happily. Miya can be seen in the water, swimming adeptly with Orion, splashing him as the poor boy laughs, pleads for her mercy and she can see Lincoln and Octavia floating in the deeper water together, talking quietly as gentle hands touch cheeks and shoulders.

She dismounts quietly and hands the reins of her mount towards Rufus, stepping through the pebbles towards the pensive blonde, but her cover is blown moments later by loud voices calling her name, the clatter of rocks tumbling over each other beneath the force of small feet. She turns in time to bend down and catch the shoulders of a little boy who stumbles into her, steadying him even as he grins up at her.

Several other children join him seconds later, tugging at her pants, the word _Heda_ tripping off their lips excitedly, followed by questions and stories and she ruffles their hair, tries to pay attention to each equally. From the corner of her eye she can see Clarke watching her, the soft, affectionate smile that lifts her lips and she feels her own smile growing on her face as a little girl shows her the shell she dove to the lake floor for.

It takes her a few minutes to extract herself from their excited words and smiling faces and when she starts back towards Clarke the woman is back to watching Miya and Orion play.

"Hello," she slides a hand around her waist and unsurprisingly Clarke does nothing but lean into her embrace.

"Hi. Good hunt?"

"Fruitful enough," her fingers curl around Clarke's hip, drawing her closer and she can't help but duck her head to place a soft kiss to her exposed neck. "You are not swimming?"

"No, you know I'm not keen," Clarke's eyes finally rise to meet hers, still gentle with affection even as her words cut wryly. "Regardless, someone must protect them."

"And that is you?" Lexa raises an eyebrow teasingly, running her free hand over Clarke's other hip and her stomach, moving behind her slightly to rest her chin on the woman's shoulder, brushing away blonde hair. "You didn't even hear Rufus and I approaching."

"Don't be ridiculous." Clarke scoffs, though her hands come to rest over Lexa's on her stomach. "Of course I did, but I knew it was you."

"You couldn't have known." Lexa retorts, shaking her head and Clarke turns quickly in her arms, throwing her off balance for a moment before steadying hands reach up to wrap around the back of her neck and draw her closer, lips pressing together hotly for a second, so harsh and unforgiving that she is left breathless.

"You think?" Clarke murmurs against her open lips, placing one final peck against the soft flesh before turning again in her embrace.

"So many years," Lexa mutters against her neck, "and you still surprise me."

"I plan to continue surprising you." Clarke informs her, quietly, but her eyes are sombre. "How was your meeting this morning? With the eleven clans?"

"The _Klakaraunonkru_ citizens are settling well into their new abodes, scattered about the clans well enough to stamp out any potential uprising," Lexa hesitates, "there is some talk, however."

"Talk?" Clarke frowns, "how so?"

"Things are different now, the threat of the Mountain was wiped away long ago and since then we have all thrived, perhaps too much. The alliance means that fighting amongst ourselves is rare and we live longer. Even your sky medicine has helped."

"What's wrong with living longer?" Clarke does not turn, but she can feel her hands tightening around Lexa's.

"It makes for overcrowding," she tells her succinctly. "We must find new lands. I am sending out a party with the River People, we will be joined on this mission. They will explore the seas to the west and see what lies beyond them."

"You really think there could still be new lands out there? More people?"

"You fell from the sky," Lexa tells her, smiling softly as she brushes a strand of golden hair from her cheek. "Anything is possible."

Clarke's eyes venture back out to the water, landing on Miya and Lexa feels a sigh rush out of her, heavy and resigned. "It will be dangerous. You know she will want to go, once she is old enough?"

"None shall venture out onto the waters until they have seen eighteen winters," Lexa reassures her, "and she is wise and brave, we have taught her well. By then she will know all she needs to know."

"I suppose," Clarke's words are unconvinced, but there is a tender smile on her face and her eyes glow like the warm light of the sun at dusk, hazy through the clouds. "She'll have to grow up some time."

"Indeed," Lexa's arms tighten around her, drawing comfort from her as she watches Miya get tackled, laughing, into the water by her childhood playmate. "For now though let her be a child. While she can."

"There is no greater gift." Clarke whispers and the kiss that Lexa presses to her cheek is answer enough.

They give their daughter the childhood they never had and when she is grown, they let her go with open arms.

  
_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much for your comments, they've been great to read. Please feel free to come and spam me on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars about this or any of my other upcoming fics. (Spoiler alert: I'm much better at responding there because ao3 is a foreign world to me.) Also let me know if you'd like to see a small extra scene from this fic.


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